


Ashes to Ashes

by joufancyhuh



Series: To Know A Vael [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive parent Leandra, Allusions to Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andraste lore, Bisexual Hawke, Bisexual Sebastian, Bitter!Sebastian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fade Dreams, Family Issues, First Love, Grief, Hawke Family - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Mild Sexual Content, Rake! Sebastian, Rewrite, Slow Burn, canon compliant ending, now with art!, pre-DA2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Chasing the trail of a fairytale, young Hawke teams up with Chantry runaway Sebastian Vael as she tracks down the cure for her father’s ailment.
Relationships: Female Hawke & Malcolm Hawke, Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Series: To Know A Vael [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/899037
Comments: 114
Kudos: 25
Collections: Tangled Origins





	1. A Blue Eyed Thief In An Unfamiliar Place

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ashes to Ashes. **Old Version**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016271) by [joufancyhuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh). 



> When I originally wrote this story, it was a one-shot. And then it was a big fic. And then it was a series. And in the two years since the original posted, Kalea came a long way, as did Sebastian. And the canon changed and changed again and now they're new people and they needed a new and updated origin story. I went back and forth on it, but honestly, I feel much better about this story as I rewrite it. The original is still around if you're interested, but if you read it (or if you haven't), take a chance on this one. It's much better, I promise. 
> 
> Beta'd by kynlei

“You give that back!”

Kalea cursed under her breath at her carelessness as she shoved through the crowd. The thief, her purse still dangling from his fingertips, slithered through the bustling Denerim market with relative ease, the distance rapidly growing between them despite her attempt to catch up. He tossed a glance behind him, blue eyes vivid against the dark of his skin, gleaming with a bold satisfaction before tipping her a cheeky wink and drawing the hood tighter around his face.

Frustration left her throat in a growl, her breath leaving like a puff of smoke from between her lips. _Shit_. 

Her attention darted to the small courtyard housing the Chantry, and the templars standing guard by the twin doors. The hair on her arms prickled as a tide of tingling magic enveloped her like a wave. 

But the templars didn’t notice her momentary lapse in control, and she bolted before figuring out why, sticking to the outskirts of the market as she chose to seek out her destination instead. The purse carried all she had, and without it, food and lodging became an immediate problem. Normal people might go to the law for such issues, but her family always preached a distrust of strangers. 

_Broke and alone in a new city. Fantastic._

A month. She lasted barely a month into her journey before something went wrong. Her mother’s disapproving face flashed in her mind, and Kalea gritted her teeth in reaction. No, she would stick to the plan, stay focused on her quest. The sooner she got what she came for, the quicker the return to her family in Highever. 

With a sigh, she paused to lean against one of the stone walls that surrounded the alienage, eyes still scouting for that rogue. If she found him, could she get her purse back somehow? Her talents lied in magic, and solely in magic. To corner him meant revealing her secret, and that was a _very_ bad idea. It would be all too easy for someone, even if they held no repute, to turn her in for the standing apostate reward the Chantry offered. 

Best to forget him (and her purse) then, and move on. 

When a break opened in the crowd, she surged onward toward the tavern where Brother Genitivi resided across the way. As the Chantry’s leading scholar, he was the first lead to her investigations. She read all of his research before setting out, and no other books mentioned the fable. 

_Not a fable,_ she reminded herself. _It’s real. I know it is._

Her feet carried her to a worn oak door with no sign of who lived inside. But the sister in Highever guaranteed her of his current residence. She knocked, but not without a brief look around. Most walking by ignored her, though a few threw a curious glance in her direction. Not to be completely unexpected, given her ragged appearance from weeks on the road. 

A man around her father’s age cleared his throat from inside the now open door, annoyance pulsing a vein in his forehead. “He’s busy,” the man grumbled before starting to close the door, but she shoved her foot in its path, throwing what little weight she had against the oak. 

“Please,” she pleaded. “I only need a few minutes of his time.” Her voice cracked, tears already welling in her eyes. First the thief and now this. Damn them all, she didn’t come this far and risk so much to be turned away so easily. Her mother always said she didn’t know when to quit. 

“I said he’s busy. He won’t be back for a few days.” The man snapped, employing extra effort in closing the door. 

He paused when her face fell, a soft “oh” leaving her trembling lips. Without coin, did she sleep in the woods until Brother Genitivi’s return? Hunt wildlife for food until then and keep out of sight? 

“He’ll be back in a week if you’re willing to wait.” The man’s harsh tone softened, his eyes studying her raising every bit of alarm that echoed from the city around them. “Where are you from, girl? Where are your parents?”

 _Girl_ , he called her, as if she were some child instead of freshly nineteen. But she always looked young, no matter her age, and that could work to her advantage, enough for a meal and a bed if she played it right. “Highever,” she responded, newly emboldened by her plan. “I came alone.” 

“Irresponsible of them to send you out. And without a means of protection, no less.” The man tsked then stepped out of the way, sweeping an arm out towards the inside. “Come inside. We’ll see if I can’t help you somehow.” 

_Sweet success_. She offered a bashful smile as she stepped around him and entered the small sanctuary. The room smelled of something wonderful, better than her loaves of bread and whatever she caught on the way there if she even managed that. Stew, from the look of the cauldron sitting in the hearth. Beef stew, given the aromatic scent that rumbled her stomach as if in conversation over her pallid diet. 

The man closed the door while she stared at the food, and with a sigh, waved a hand in the direction of the table. “Sit. It’s almost ready.”

“Thank you, Mister … ?”

“Weylon.” 

She took a seat, admiring the sturdiness of the wooden chair as she did. The ones at home rocked as if on a constant uneven floor and broke on more than one occasion simply from sitting in them. _This_ , she thought, _must be what luxury felt like_. 

Weylon stirred the pot and sniffed the contents. When he scooped out a bit and let it fall back in, the broth ran a thick brown; her stomach gurgled at the sight. “When’s the last time you ate? You’re only skin and bones.” 

A side-effect from magic, she couldn’t reveal. Using magic left her ravenous, and with three mages in a family that barely afforded enough food for four regular people, her family often went hungry, herself included. “My food ran out yesterday. I hoped to buy more once I entered town, but …” Shame brushed her cheeks like a sunburn as she recalled that arrogant rogue she chased and her slip-up with her powers. 

His sigh echoed a reply. “The thieves in this town are a plight. What did they steal from you?”

“My purse. It was all the money I had and now ... I don’t know how I’m going to get by.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, but not quick enough to go unnoticed. 

Her new companion stared at her, which only deepened the heat radiating on her face. At least a rainstorm didn’t form in the room, a bad occurrence at home from her crying. When magic prickled across her skin like electricity, she forced herself to calm down, making another, more successful attempt to dry her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, bearing holes into his socked feet as she avoided his gaze. 

He left the hearth to grab a bowl from a nearby cabinet, then scooped out a generous portion of the stew and set it in front of her. “Don’t bother waiting for me. Help yourself.” 

And she did. The first bite left her swooning, even though it burned her tongue. And the bite after only worsened the burn, but Maker, the desire to eat was too strong to resist. 

By the time Weylon slipped into the chair across from hers, her bowl sat half-empty as she cradled it in her hand, keeping it close to her mouth to shovel the food in. As she ate, he spoke. “Brother Genitivi has me make this stew once a week. The leftovers go to the local orphanage or the people working at The Pearl, or sometimes we open the doors and let anyone walking by take a bowl.” 

“That’s very generous of you,” Kalea said, careful not to spit any food out of her very full mouth. Chunks of potato and carrot and beef and onion, if only she could take some back to her family to share in this most delectable meal of her life. 

“After you’re sated, I’m going to accompany you to The Pearl, and if you wish, we can inquire about getting you a job there. Sanga complained to me last week about needing someone to help clean the floors and launder the clothes and bedding. She’s a fair woman, and I’m certain the two of you can work out a deal for a bed and coin.” 

She finished off the last bite and considered licking the bowl for a fleeting moment. Her stomach felt fully satisfied, a rare sensation, and one she never wanted to leave. When she set the bowl back onto the table, she met Weylon’s eyes. “Is there a catch? Why go out of your way for a stranger?” 

“Brother Genitivi believes in charity, and I follow in his teachings.” Weylon gave a tight-lipped smile. “But I should warn you, The Pearl is a brothel. It’s the best I can offer, but it should earn you enough to get home.”

 _A brothel?_ Her whole face suddenly grew as hot as the stew in her stomach. She only knew about them from a tawdry novel of her mother’s she discovered hidden beneath a mattress. And the descriptions inside left her a mix of mortified and curious, but to see it all in person? 

“You don’t have to make that decision now,” Weylon answered in reply to her silence, or maybe the embarrassment staining her cheeks. He took a bite from his bowl after blowing to cool it off. “If you’re still hungry, there’s plenty more. We also have bread and fruit, if you enjoy apples and pomegranates.” 

The notion flitted through her head for consideration. More stew? But her stomach might burst if she added anything more to it. Instead, her gaze wandered the room with idle curiosity. This room alone could fit three of her family’s old apartments inside, and it radiated with warmth on the chilly autumn day. 

A small mirror sat on one of the decorative tables - decorative! - and she caught sight of her reflection inside it. Her scraggly hair hung over her shoulders and clumped together, darker brown with grease. It aided the light, actual sunburn on her otherwise pale cheeks in her urchin appearance, helped along by her patched clothes and cloak. No wonder Weylon wanted to help, not that this differed from her regular look at home. 

“What’s your name, girl?” 

She took one last look around the place, then settled her gaze back on him. Did she give him a fake name in case her family came in search of her? Or what if someone knew of her father? But the way Weylon smiled spoke of trust, and after almost a month on the road, it felt nice to have that again. 

Pushing her bangs to the side despite them nowhere near her eyes, she returned the smile. “Kalea. Kalea Hawke.” 


	2. A Disgraced Prince And An Apostate Walk Into A Brothel

The Pearl reeked of booze and sweat and weirdly fish, though given its location close to the docks, that shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Floorboards creaked under the heel of her well-worn boots as she accompanied Weylon through the establishment, trying her damndest not to stare at a scantily dressed man straddling the lap of another man with the designation of a pirate from between the pages of some novel; or the woman sitting at a table in nothing but her bloomers, studying the cards in her hand with a lit cigar dangling from between her dark-painted lips. Laughter accompanied their venture inside, loud and boisterous as someone clapped their hands and stomped their boots. 

A woman of tall stature wearing a modest dress smiled from behind the counter of the back-corner bar at their approach. “My dear Weylon,” she said with a nod. “I always look forward to your visits, though I admit-” Her eyes passed over Kalea in quick assessment, and the burn in Kalea’s cheeks that began the instant they passed through those doors deepened. “- it’s surprising to find you with company.” 

“Lovely to see you, Sanga.” He tipped his body forward in a high bow, and Kalea quickly followed the gesture out of respect for the woman. “I’ll need a few of your strongest to come back with me for the food, if any are available at the moment.” 

“For you? I always have someone,” Sanga said with a wink, then clapped her hands. Instantly, two muscular women appeared by her side as if summoned by magic. Kalea recalled spotting them lingering outside the entrance of the building, their cold eyes staring as the two passed. “But what of the girl? I doubt she merely accompanying you on your rounds.”

“She had a run-in with a thief, and as I recall, you mentioned needing someone around to clean-up on my last visit.” 

“So I’m to take her in then?” Sanga half-turned toward Kalea, who gripped her hands together in front of her so hard that her fingers ached. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Kalea Hawke, Miss.” 

Sanga smiled. “Such a polite little bird. And you wish to work here?” 

She did not, actually, wish to stay there, but her father always preached about taking work when offered, that every job came with a benefit, even when hidden, and the importance of coin. But Sanga held eyes as sharp as her own namesake, and it wouldn’t do to lie to the kind woman. “I only wish to earn my keep.”

Her answer met with laughter from Sanga, soft like the jingling of small bells. “And honest, too. I like you.” Her attention shifted to Weylon. “We’ll take care of her. But I’m curious as to your investment in this matter.” 

“She came to speak to Genitivi and is willing to wait for his return, but I’d rest easier knowing someone such as yourself watched over her until then.” Weylon bowed again. “Thank you for this.” And without further addressing Kalea, he left with the two large women in his shadow. 

That left Kalea alone with Sanga, who stepped out from behind the counter. “Well then, Little Bird,” she placed a hand on Kalea’s shoulder and nudged her toward a side door. “We’ll get you settled before showing you what needs doing. I suspect you’ve cleaned floors before?”

“I’ve cleaned a little bit of everything, ma’am.” Kalea ducked through the door, which led into a hallway filled with more doors. Sounds filtered through some of them, moans and groans and furniture banging into walls and shouted curse words, a cacophony of sex that turned her pale face into that of a beet. 

Sanga headed down the hall with Kalea at her heels. “Will the nature of our business pose a problem for you?”

“Ah! No, ma’am.” She wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow her whole for Sanga noticing her discomfort. “Will I … is it expected …?”

The older woman chuckled before opening another door. “Only if you want to, though I have a feeling that’s not something you’re interested in. It would earn you more, however.” 

“No thank you, ma’am.” 

“Please, call me Sanga.” Through the door, a staircase descended down. She gathered her skirts in one hand and with careful but confident steps, traveled down into what Kalea assumed was a basement. Cots in a row lined the wide room, and another door stood at the back. “You can have one of these, they’re not assigned so don’t let any of them tell you differently.” 

She waited for Kalea to take a seat on one towards the end, near the door, before continuing on with duties and what came expected of her. Basic instructions, chores Kalea had at home in Highever. Her mother believed in a magic-free household when it came to keeping their home in order, and as often as she despised it then, she appreciated her mother’s strictness now. 

When finished, Sanga gave her a nod and headed back upstairs, leaving Kalea alone in the unfamiliar place. But a bed and a full stomach were more than she had in weeks, and it came fully appreciated, along with the chance to not worry about fending for herself, at least for the time being. 

_Look at it as a new adventure_ , her father always said whenever Kalea’s fear and discomfort got the best of her. _A chance to learn something new._

She recited his words like a mantra at first, like when a very naked employee ran out of her room after a bad client, or when one of the drunk patrons grabbed her and pulled her into his lap before the bouncer tossed him out. But other than occasional nudity and some lewd comments thrown in her direction (Sanga cut the patrons off as soon as the first one began with a stern _She’s not for sale_ ), she enjoyed her time there. The employees took breakfast together in the early morning, spilling secrets over their clients and gently teasing Kalea when her face lit up to vibrant shades of red by the excess detail used. They echoed Sanga as they called her _Little Bird_ and braided her hair, some even handing her dresses to wear or applying makeup on her face. 

They shared the warmth of a family and welcomed her with open arms. 

Her homesickness passed with reminders of what to tell Beth when she returned home, how to teach her in her own makeup application, repeat the stories when they laid in their beds at night with the candles out (once she grew old enough, of course). 

Before she knew it, the week ended and the summons arrived, just as Weylon promised. Sanga kissed her crown and gave her a tight hug like a mother would her child as Kalea stood in front of her, bag packed and ready to return to her very important task. 

“Can I convince you to stay, Little Bird?” Sanga held Kalea’s hands in hers, gazing down into her eyes with such tenderness that it prickled Kalea’s eyes with tears. “We’ve all grown rather fond of you, and you’re rather skilled at this job.” 

Self-loathing boiled in her stomach as she realized how difficult it was to turn the offer down. She had a mission, didn’t she? Her family counted on her, and yes, going to bed with a full stomach and surrounded by people who genuinely cared about her was nice and all, but staying, especially here, so close to the Chantry, that couldn’t be a viable option, not for the long-term. 

Kalea started for the exit but a blur of amber caught her eyes, stopping her in her tracks. She turned her gaze just as a pair of familiar blue eyes connected with her, recognition fluttering across both of their faces. Unable to process how to react, she pointed at him and screeched, “You!”

The rogue who stole her purse gave a cocky smile and a wink before flipping over the card table he played on and grabbing her purse from its edge. As he dashed toward the door, one of the bouncers caught him by the hood and yanked him back, while the other rushed to stand in front of him, blocking his escape. The gleam of metal shot into his palm - _A dagger!_ She wanted to cry out but her voice stuck in her throat - but the bouncer behind him twisted his wrist, making him cry out in pain as his weapon fell to the ground. His other arm ended up in tandem behind his back as he squirmed, cursing under his breath and shooting glares in every direction until those eyes settled back on her. 

“It was a joke, lassie. I merely borrowed it for safekeeping. You can have it back.” He shot her an uneasy, forced grin as he kept resisting the hold. His brogue marked him as foreign, possibly from across the sea and in the Free Marches, given the relative closeness. 

Sanga stepped forward before Kalea found her voice, a gentle and reassuring hand landing on her shoulder. “This is the man who stole from you?”

Kalea only managed a nod. 

“I didn’t steal it, I just told you,” he insisted, though menace built up in his gaze when it shifted toward her. “It was a simple misunderstanding.” 

A flicker of anger toward his arrogance sparked inside her chest, but she knew better than to let it continue, lest he brought out that uncontrollable side-effect of her emotions again. Sanga defended her now, but if she knew what she housed in her establishment …

Sanga held up her hand to silence him. “I leave your fate to our little bird. The crimes you committed were against her and outside of The Pearl, though we won’t be allowing you back through that door again.” 

“Aye?” A spark of something sinister twinkled in his eyes when they next fell on Kalea. “Then choose wisely, Wee Birdie. You never know when a punishment might come full _circle_.” 

The way he stressed circle and that plotting smile on his face, she knew. After years of carefully guarding her magic, it revealed itself - to _him_ , of all people - and if she didn’t play this right, the room would know and then the templars would follow. And she’d never meet Brother Genitivi and never see her family again, let alone help them. 

Everything hinged on this one person who sought to use this information against her. 

“I could have you killed,” she hissed, though her heart didn’t echo the sentiment. 

“Aye, but not before I shout it out.” His reply drew back his lips into a cocky, gotcha smiles that Carver sometimes made when he outwitted her in a game. 

Kalea’s rabbit heart thumped wildly in her chest as she cleared her throat. “Release him.” Even with this, he could still -

Sanga gripped her shoulder. “If this man has something on you, if you’re in any trouble -”

Quickly as to not arouse suspicion, Kalea cut off that line of thought. “It’s only a purse. As long as it returns to me, that’s all I care about.” Her teeth clenched so hard that they might shatter, her hands flexing at her sides. Only fear kept her magic docile from the building rage at the arrogance of this rogue. 

Sanga waved her hand after letting go of Kalea, and the bouncer dropped the man’s arms. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Little Bird.” 

“So do I,” Kalea muttered to herself as the rogue rolled his shoulders, then shot her an overly confident smirk with a wink. 


	3. This Seems Like A Great Decision In Which Nothing Could Possibly Go Wrong

Past The Pearl’s doors, the rogue adhered to Kalea’s side as they ventured toward the center of town. He leaned over and hissed into her ear once out of earshot from any passerbys. “ _Apostate_.” 

“Look, I gave you your freedom,” she said with a scowl, arms crossing over her chest as she continued her march toward the markets. Now that they left the confines of the brothel, her fear gave way to anger, her magic simmering but ready to spike if the man got any closer. Her purse felt light from when she first entered the town, but the money she earned made up the difference, if not gave her extra. Did he mean to rob her again? “Why don’t you leave me be?” 

“How about we get ourselves a room and you can show me all of those magic tricks of yours? Now that you’ve turned the whores against me, I grow bored of this place.” 

When she turned to shove at him, not planning on holding back, he dodged the attack with ease but stayed the distance afterward. “You’re disgusting.” 

“My Mamaidh throws better insults than you, lass. You’ll have to try harder if you expect them to sting even a wee bit.” He cackled, keeping rhythm with her steps. Given his long legs, his stride could easily carry him faster than her own pace, which meant he slowed for her. 

She tried ignoring him. She attempted to lose him by cutting down alleys. She even threw a rock at him, which missed as he sidestepped out of the way. Nothing worked to frighten this parasite off. 

Outside of Brother Genitivi’s door, she finally spun around to face him. Amusement shone bright in his sun-light eyes, a half-smile pulling the corner of his lips. “You’re not welcome inside,” she said, hoping the sternness she felt echoed in her voice. “You’ve had your fun, but this is where it ends.” 

“Who’s in there?” He knocked on the door before she could reach out and drag his arm down. 

Weylon opened the door. The smile at seeing her again faltered as he took notice of the rogue still behind her. “You… brought a friend.” 

“Not a friend.” Her voice loud enough for both to hear, she turned to the stranger, but he stepped back, out towards the market. 

“I walked the lass here. Didn’t want the wee birdie to get robbed again.” He thumbed toward the tavern across the way. “I’ll wait for you in there, Wee Birdie, so don’t fly away so quickly. I think we both know you could use the company.” And then he left, no more struggling against it, and she watched him cross the street with relief before the anxiety over meeting Brother Genitivi took hold. 

Weylon escorted her inside and to the study, where Brother Genitivi smiled warmly and offered the armchair next to his in front of the hearth. “Welcome. Weylon told me to expect you.” 

And before she could sit down, she burst with her story, starting from the very beginning. The sorrowful tale spilled from her lips, every detail (minus those that involved magic), and the brother listened, captivated by it all. Weylon brought them tea halfway through, along with lunch. This time, she paced herself and ate more gracefully, no longer near starving. 

Brother Genitivi had kind eyes full of knowledge, like her father. He sat with patience, nodding along to her tale, hands clasped together in his lap. When she finished, when she expelled her entire ordeal from her body like an exorcism, a long pause followed.

Then he rose and made his way over to one of many bookshelves. “I’ve searched for many years,” he began. “All I have are whispers, inklings of where it might be.” When he returned to his seat, he passed the book over to her. “I propose we make a trade. I’ll give you my research, and in return, you must save some of what you find for me. And if you fail, then write to me, tell me of what you discovered so that I may use them for future expeditions.” 

“That seems more than fair.” But it didn’t seem right to take his whole book. That was a lot of responsibility, and one she didn’t trust herself with. “But perhaps I could simply copy some information down instead?” 

He shook his head. “I had this book made for my assistant. Your notations can go straight into the book, and when you reach the end of your quest, send it back to me. I’ll pay the courier.”

Kalea thanked him again, though it would never be enough for the hope it fueled. They sat and made idle chitchat after, but she sensed her time drew to a natural end. Weylon escorted her out of the room but paused before opening the door to the street. 

“You need protection. You can’t run all over Thedas by yourself.” 

Shame washed over her as she recognized the truth in his words. Out on the road, she did fine, no witnesses to her powers. But populated areas made her vulnerable. This time it was her purse. Would it next be her life? 

“That boy… “ Weylon continued on. “The one who brought you here. Consider taking him with you.” 

She shrugged, the only response she could muster that didn’t include an eye roll or a nose wrinkle or even an outright look of horror. 

But as she stood back on the streets of Denerim, she considered the suggestion. No templars awaited her exit, a good sign. The rogue kept her secret, even if he intended to blackmail her with it. Could she trust anyone else even that far? 

Resigned to her fate, she cut across the road to the tavern. Her eyes found his amoung the patrons as he sipped from a mug, legs crossed and an arm around an attractive man on a well-worn couch that faced the entryway. She loathed the satisfaction in his blossoming smile at her approach. 

The rogue leaned in to whisper something to the man before grabbing his tunic and dragging him into a kiss, though his eyes locked with hers; she hid her blush in a cough as the warning bells for a bad idea clanged loudly in her head. What did she really know about this man other than his scoundrel nature? Why would he even help her?

But he waited. That had to be enough. 

Neither stopped the kiss, even with her so close; instead, the rogue slid his hand up the man’s thigh as the kiss deepened. She pointedly denied eye contact, though curiosity brought her close to shattering that resolve. 

When her approach could no longer be ignored, the rogue broke the kiss with a smirk. “Aye,” he began. “I thought you might seek me out. I got you, well, _us_ a gift.” He brushed the man’s chestnut hair from his face. “Shall we commence in the back?”

Mortified and irritated by the rogue’s boldness, her face the bright color of fresh tomatoes with all the heat of the sun, her fingers flexed into a fist at her side as she took a seat on the couch across from their spectacle. “I’m here on business.” If she could call it. She had no coin to offer him, no means in which to hire his services. What did she have to offer? How did she convince someone like him to tag along on this insane quest of hers?

“Business?” His laughter cut through the air, piercing and straight into her chest. “I didn’t realize people of your stature ever had any business.” 

The man shot them both a confused glance. “Am I getting us a room?” 

No real conversation could occur with this stranger sitting privy to her secrets. She shook her head as the rogue jumped in, “Sadly _m’eudail_ , the lass isn’t in the mood for play. But I’ll be sure to look you up the next time I’m in Denerim.” When the man huffed and stood, the rogue pulled him back down for another drawn-out make-out session before pushing him away and slapping his butt. “Now get out of here.” 

The rogue waited until the man left before dangling a heavy black purse in front of his face. “This one’s _tòrr_ heavier than yours. You could learn a thing or two from… what was the lad’s name again?”

She grunted, her nose wrinkled with obvious distaste. This was who she supposedly trusted to help her? _Him_? There had to be some other option she didn’t catch, a hidden answer that didn’t rely on the man in front of her. 

“So what can I do you for? I doubt someone like you sought me out only for my good looks.” He winked and puckered his lips, making a kissing gesture in her direction.

Her blood raged in response, and she took a few seconds to count down and regain control over her emotions. Not here, not in front of all these witnesses, and especially not with the templars so close. 

“I need an escort. You were so willing to help before, and I’d be eternally grateful if you would again.”

“An escort…” He stroked his chin as he imitated thinking it over. “And what does a wee lass like yourself need an escort for?” 

“As you’re well aware, I can’t defend myself in public without risking exposure.”

“And of course you turn to me. I already know, and you don’t want to take a chance on someone else.” The smile that drew across his lips sent shivers down her spine as it dawned on him how much power he lorded over her. “I’m the only person who can help you, isn’t that right, Wee Birdie?” 

“I don’t have any other options.” Here would be a good place to grovel, to fall on her knees and plead and beg until he gave in. But she was stronger than that. If not him, fine. She’d get a sword somehow and bring it with her and manage for herself, the way she did getting there. 

“What’s in it from me? Obviously not coin, seeing as how you have none.” The way his eyes rolled over her body made her think he had another payment method in mind. She crossed her arms over her chest, shrinking back into her seat. 

“Any treasure we find will belong to you. I don’t have anything more to offer.” A weak proposal and both parties knew it. They stared at one another, the wheels in his head visibly turning, her holding her breath for a reply. Any reasonable person would turn her down, but they would also collect the reward with the Chantry. He didn’t. She prayed in the space of their silence, asking the Maker for help and guidance, to bless the journey and its trials ahead. 

The rogue polished off his drink and the one beside it, once belonging to the stranger he invited into the booth. The purse, he tucked away into one of the pouches on his belt. “I’ll help, but only until we reach another city. I’ve worn out my welcome in this one.” 

He jumped to his feet, startling her as the tavern door shot open, the man from before back with an entourage of guards. The man yelled something sharp, jabbing a finger in their direction as she rose, fire sparking at her fingertips for battle. 

But her new companion took off toward the back rooms. “Try and keep up!”

Even with his long stride and fast movement, she kept at his heels, better than in their first meeting. He flipped over tables and chairs to delay the guards; she leaped over them with relative ease, used to long sprints in fields or chasing after her siblings. Bethany frequently used her magic to aid her escapes, while Carver often charged like an enraged bear.

Into one of the side rooms, they dashed, the rogue locking the door behind them and propping a chair against the handle. “That won’t hold them long.” 

“Now what?” Adrenaline pounded in her veins, her senses and magic heightened by the rush. The room they entered was a hall, with a bedroom in the back. She followed him into it, where he threw open a window. Half ducking through the entry, he held out a hand for her to grasp. “The name’s Sebastian.” 

She accepted, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so scrawny as he yanked her through with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly love Sebastian, I do. And I especially love this Sebastian. What a proper asshole. 
> 
> As far as the changes, here's where they really start to take shape. Here we see Kal talk with Genitivi as opposed to jumping from entering to exiting. We also have a better reason as to why Sebastian joins her in the first place (though there are hidden motives too which I'm trying to figure out how to reveal). Also, I think this version of Sebastian is more likable than in the original?


	4. The Girl With The Pigeon Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No actual tattoos are involved in the making of this fic.

A single tease about whether or not the bow was for show and Sebastian disappeared into the forest, eager to prove Kalea wrong by catching dinner. With his departure, she dug out the book Genitivi gave her and began to read through, the campfire lending her its glow in the dying light of evening. 

The pages filled with diagrams and maps, theories written in margins then scratched out. Script taken straight from The Chant of Light and dissected into possibilities. Rumors and strange occurrences with locations scribbled next to each one. She flipped through it, skimming each page, unsure of where to begin. Toward the back, a section caught her eye, titled _ The Temple of Shartan _ . 

_ The temple was a rumor _ , the text read.  _ Shartan was Andraste’s most loyal follower and inspiration unto himself, but all mentions of this temple disappeared only a few years following Andraste’s death. Disappearance questionable, possibly destroyed or hidden. Protected? If so, why? What’s in it? Would Shartan protect Our Lady even in death? Accord of Tomelyn describes its location as a “forest of grief, where the veil thins and trees come alive”. Kocari Wilds???  _

The question, written larger than any of the other words, was circled several times. On the back, a map of the Wilds, also with a circle and an arrow pointing.  _ Here _ .

“Is that where we’re headed?” 

Kalea gave a shout and scooted back, away from the voice next to her ear. Sebastian gave one of his signature smirks, full of a rich smugness she wanted nothing more than to wipe off his face, two rabbits dripping blood held in one hand. Why hadn’t she heard him reenter their small camp? When did he arrive?

He threw the rabbits at her feet, then took out a handkerchief from a pouch on his belt and wiped his hands clean, making a disgusted face as he did. “I believe you owe me an apology, Wee Birdie.” 

“Not bad,” she replied, attempting to keep her voice neutral to fend off how impressed she was by the speed in which he caught them. When she hunted alone, it took all night and usually ended with a stomach full of bread. But given their hasty departure from the city, neither had the chance to shop for supplies. At least with him there, her empty bag didn’t leave her despaired. “Let’s see you do it twice.”

“Aye, I believe I did that, lass, or can’t you count?” He stretched out along the fire like a cat, hand propping up his head as his eyes studied her from across the flame, those of a predator. They followed her as she set her book aside and dragged the rabbits forward to skin and clean and ready them for cooking. She caught them more than a few times when she stole glances as her mind set to work assuring her on what a bad idea it was that he came along. Would he slit her throat, steal her purse while she slept? Why agree to travel with her? Why help when he did fine on his own?

“Your knifework’s sloppy,” he huffed, then rolled onto his back. 

“Then you do it.” 

“I think I’ll pass on that one, Wee Birdie.” A quiet fell between them, his eyes on the few stars that appeared in the twilight, one of the moons peeking up over the treeline. Crickets contended with the snap and crackle of the fire as her hands stayed busy trimming the meat, then using twine from her pack to tie the rabbits to the end of a stick dug into the ground. 

Keeping an eye on the meat and turning it every so often, she found herself with plenty of time to survey her companion. His auburn hair hung to his shoulders, his bangs long enough for him to sweep them back and out of the way of his eyes. What she mistook for scrawniness, she instead spotted lithe muscles sculpting his arms. He wasn’t unhandsome, and pretty clean, his cotton shirt and pants in more than decent condition for someone living off the streets. The emerald green cloak didn’t even have patches, not a one. Who was this stranger she allied with? 

Shame about his personality though.

Her thoughts shifted to the journey ahead. The Kocari Wilds. Was it really so easy, so within reach at the temple? After dinner, she ran through the book once more, this time taking note of the crossed-out locations that came before, the dead theories. Brother Genitivi seemed convinced that the object was in Ferelden, and as he put it in the book, the country was only so big, though the idea of it being in the Deep Roads did occur to him, lost for all eternity in the bowels of darkspawn territory. 

If it existed. 

“Why do you keep reading that thing?” Sebastian rolled over onto his stomach, hands under his chin with his head cocked to the side. The curious smile on his lips set her on edge, something about the  _ I’m bored, entertain me _ quality of it. She recognized it from the gazes in The Pearl from the patrons who entered, like she was meat to be devoured. 

“It’s called research.” 

“Is that what you picked up from that house? The book?” 

Would it do any harm to admit the truth, or did she keep her guard up on handing over every scrap of information? “If you must know, yes, it was.” 

“If I must know,” he mocked, his head swinging side to side in his poor imitation. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“Should I?”

“I didn’t turn you in. That counts for something, I would think.” 

It did and was why he laid there now, eyes the yellow-orange flame of the fire. “I doubt your reasons for that are as savory as you pretend to make them.” Seeing as how he blackmailed her for his release, did he only accompany her to control her actions? 

“I’m helping you, remember? And all you’ve done so far is squawk at me like a hungry pigeon.”

“And all you’ve done is leer and laze about like a damn tomcat.” Giving up any hope of reading, she slammed her book closed and shoved it into her pack. “For your information, pigeons don’t squawk, they coo.” 

“If I were truly a cat, I would’ve eaten you by now, Wee Pigeon.” He flipped onto his back, his arms propping his head from laying on the ground. His head tipped back, the flash of those blue eyes flaring with amusement as they met hers. “I still might.” 

Her eyes tore away to look anywhere but at him, the deep heat of embarrassment staining her cheeks. Even when he yawned and the sound of shifting filtered over from his side of the fire, her concentration stuck to the ground. 

Sleep came uneasy that night with him so near. It rarely claimed her fully, every sound setting her back to full alertness, and the soft sound of his breathing, the little movements he made in slumber, those all dragged her away from rest. When the sun rose, she gave up and nibbled on the remainder of her dinner. 

Sebastian woke shortly after her with a long stretch and huge yawn. The shirt he wore rode up to just under his navel with the raise of his arms, and a creeping heat scattered across her face as she diverted her attention elsewhere. Was this how she’d spend their entire time together, red-faced and balancing that delicate line of anger and embarrassment? 

For his part, her companion either remained oblivious to her dilemma or elected not to comment on it. Instead, he ran a hand through his cowlicked hair after sitting up, then jumped to his feet and dusted off his pants. “I need a blanket. And a pillow. Why do you get one and not me?”

“Good morning to you too,” she muttered before responding to his question with a louder, more assertive voice. “We would’ve gotten you a bedroll had we not been chased out of Denerim. I wonder whose fault that is.” 

“Blaming me doesn’t solve the problem, Pidge.” 

The nickname melted the retort on her tongue. “Pidge?”

“Pigeon. Same thing.”

If she had feathers, they’d ruffle at this blatant disregard for her actual name. “Or you could call me Kalea.” 

“Aye, but where’s the fun in that, lass?”

With a frustrated grunt, she stood. Arguing got her nowhere, and they needed to begin their journey into the Wilds. Judging from the map, it would take another month to reach the temple. But their lack of supplies meant stopping in a nearby town, and the closest one… 

“Toward the evening, we’ll pass a small town. You can grab a bedroll from there. I’ll make a list of everything we’ll need.” 

They began walking back toward the road, but at her words, Sebastian paused, causing her to stop along with him. “Why? Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m… not exactly welcome there.” 

That sparked some curiosity from him. “Oh? And why not? Did you misbehave yourself? I’m hurt that you’ve been holding out on me, Pidge. I want every delicious detail. Spare nothing on my expense.” 

A gentle breeze blew some hair into her face, and she focused on tucking it behind her ear, twisting the strands between her fingers and avoiding eye contact and the memories threatening to resurface. “Once it’s discovered that you’re a mage, you’re usually not invited to stay.” 

The gleeful grin fell all too quickly, and he took a step back, a rare moment of absolute solemnness from him. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she shot a cutting glare over her shoulder, but he held up his hands in front of him as if to protect from it. “I mean it. Being chased out, told you’re not wanted, I’m not sure the sting of it ever really leaves.” 

“This isn’t the same as being chased out of some married person’s bedroom.” But the words tasted like regret as his eyes glazed over with nostalgia, and she wondered for the first time as to what happened to him, how he ended up in Denerim. Did someone force him from his home?

A painted smile when he noticed how long her stare lingered and the concern that grew from it, he chuckled and said, “Aye, you’re right. I shouldn’t have compared the two.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving the new way Kalea gets her nickname. And no despair demon this time, but it took away from the heart of the story. And the bandits are still coming, don't worry. Like I said, this is more spread out. 
> 
> Also poor Sebastian. I just want to hug him, you know? The thing I love about this story, it's not just Kal's first time being on her own, but also Sebastian's, two opposite ends of the spectrum, and it's such a fun thing to explore.


	5. You Can’t Expect Me To Sleep On The Ground When There Are Perfectly Good Beds With Perfectly Good People In Them

The next day broached late morning before Sebastian returned from the errands in town with a newly-gained sack thrown over one shoulder, sagging heavy with bulk. Kalea made a point to avoid sparing even the tiniest glance in his direction as she rolled up her bed into a tight bundle. “Did you at least get the supplies while you were out doing Maker knows what last night?”

“You can’t expect me to sleep on the ground when there are perfectly good beds with perfectly good people in them.” Gingerly laying the bag down, he kneeled before it and pulled bottle after bottle from inside. “If you’re nice, I might be willing to share, Pidge.” 

Last night, she considered storming into town anyway and dragging him back to camp by the hood of his cloak when dusk shifted into night, and still no return. As she moved to pick up a bottle, turning it over in her hand and skimming the label, she regretted not following the instinct and briefly considered breaking it over his head for his lapse in judgment. “You were supposed to get food and a bedroll, remember?” 

“Aye, I got that.” He stretched open the sack for a glimpse of a folded blanket inside. “And this is food.” Wine in hand, he waved it in her direction. “It has grapes in it.” 

The sound she let out in frustration could only be described as a roar as she dropped the bottle to the ground and stormed back to collect her things. “That won’t keep our stomachs full!”

“I never said I planned to share, lassie.” His good-humored tone fell low as he began to shove his squandered wealth away. At least he only spent his own coin on this mistake, but the selfishness of his action hurt them both. 

“You’re an idiot! A complete buffoon!” She threw her hands in the air, back facing him as she attempted not to blame herself and failed. Sebastian made it clear who he was, and still, she let him go alone for supplies to last them until the Wilds. Perhaps she was the idiot in this matter. 

Not for the first time, she doubted the forced trust she placed in him. Out here on the road, did she truly need his assistance? Couldn’t she go alone instead? 

With camp packed up quickly, her temper sparking a tingling of magic across the hair on her arms, they made their way South, a thick tension-filled silence bridging the growing gap between them as she stormed down the road. Her companion didn’t appear to mind, the cork already unplugged from one of his bottles as he chugged it every few steps. 

If he passed out, she didn’t plan to carry him, instead opting for leaving him in the road for any vultures to pick over. 

The next day passed much the same, only the alcohol imbued him with more confidence as to shatter the quiet between them. “So if you’re a mage,” he said, voice steady despite all the wine he consumed, “where’s your staff? I thought mages needed a staff to do magic? Or do you carry a wee one in your pocket?” 

The idea of ignoring the questions tempted her, but he would only continue to pester her until she gave in. Best to respond to his probing now before it worsened. “Wand is the word you’re looking for, and no, we don’t need it, but the Chantry does its best to make mages believe that they do.” 

“Not a fan of the Chantry either, aye?” But before she could ask the meaning behind his words, he moved on to his next question. “So how does it work, the magic?” 

“A staff is a focus,” she began, reciting her father’s words from various lessons on the subject. “It draws natural talent into it and refines it into a more controllable force, usually gained by weakening it. Not always, but the Chantry likes to leash a mage’s powers and what better way to do that than through its conductor?” 

To his credit, Sebastian actually appeared interested in the subject. His steps kept in time to hers as they walked in tandem down the road. “So what does it mean that you don’t have one?”

“Powers are heavily influenced by emotions. Sometimes, they involuntarily come out with the stronger ones.” A smile flittered across her lips. “So basically, don’t make me angry or I might  _ accidentally  _ set you on fire.” 

The cackle he produced almost made her pause, the force of it expelling from his mouth so unexpected. “You need to get some control over that, Pidge. You’re a ball of rage for such a wee thing.” 

Her parents, too, considered her angry, though her father said it with affection in his voice like a strong and admirable quality that he loved in her. Her mother always used the word with exasperation or her own outrage, she and her mother lashing out at each other until one stormed away with tears in their eyes. A game almost, between the two of them, as to who stood the longest until that fury faded into something more sorrowful and stinging. 

Did she miss her mother now on this dirt road so far away from home, with only a stranger to keep her company? Or was that simply an emotion she was supposed to have, an obligation to miss her because she was, after all, her mother? With the others, it came easy to long for their presence: Bethany’s songbird voice drifting through the house, the whack of Carver’s sword on a dummy Father set up out front, and the ear to ear grin her father wore, even at his most tired, and the warmth of his hugs when he folded them all into it, squeezing them together, his laughter the sound of love. 

If her mother traded places with her father, would Kalea even have left Highever? 

The mandatory guilt flooded through at the hypothetical question, the brand her mother wielded by the bite of it. She fell victim to it, her eyes landing on the toes of her boots as her shuffle slowed to a near-crawl. 

But Sebastian didn’t notice, and too wrapped in her own thoughts, failed to realize he stopped ahead, attention sharp and off to the left while reaching for his bow and arrows. She almost ran into his back, and when she opened her mouth to protest, he shushed her with a wave of his hand, now attached to his weapon and aimed toward the forest. The guilt subsided, making room for panic at who or what Sebastian sensed out there. 

He drew back the arrow, muscles taut and eyes narrowed, jaw locked in concentration, lining up the shot. With the snap of the string, they listened to the whoosh of it through the trees, crunching as it shot through dead leaves, and then a wet thud, followed by a voice cursing. Already, another arrow took its place on the string, pointed toward the sound of a branch breaking under someone’s heel. “Show yourselves.” 

Bandits, no more than twelve, poured from the dense forest and circled them with swords drawn. Sebastian trained his arrow on the bigger one, their obvious leader by the long cut of his jacket and the absurd number of feathers in his hat, as the man moved to the center position of the ring. “Well, lookee here, gents. Seems like we got ourselves a couple of rowdy ones.” 

“They killed Thompson,” a gangly looking one said from behind. Kalea whirled around, magic abuzz in her fingertips, her breath a near-visible puff of frost. When she scooted back, she bumped into Sebastian, who remained facing forward. 

“We could use the girl,” another said. “She ain’t much, but she might still fetch us a nice price.” He winked at her and ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips. She suppressed the disgusted shiver that followed. Her magic strained in her hands, begging to unleash in their direction. 

“You’ll have to go through me if you want the lass,” Sebastian retorted and let the arrow fly right into the leader’s chest. He collapsed immediately, and with shouts, the bandits advanced on them.

“I can handle myself.” Her shout to Sebastian faded in with the chorus of ruckus around them. 

Already he let out two more shots, whooping each time one hit. “Maker, did you see that shot?! That’s three if we’re counting, Pidge.”

Part of her wanted to cry out about how disgusting it was to reduce a life to a number, but the competitive side of her surged forward as she blasted two of the closest bandits, turning them into icicles before dashing up and delivering a swift kick to the center of their chests, shattering them into pieces. “Two,” she called behind her, just as an arrow flew by her head and hit behind her. 

A glare met with the marksmen’s prideful smirk as he countered with, “Four.” 

“Lucky shot,” she mumbled as she spun toward a bandit who realized how outmatched he was and attempted to retreat. Sharp icicles flew from her hands to lodge into his chest like a life-sized pincushion. Blood dripped from his mouth as he first fell to his knees then awkwardly forward, only the ice holding him semi-upright. “Three, and…” With a spin, she flung out more shards into a small group advancing on Sebastian, skewering the lot. “Six.” 

A sincere laugh of enjoyment lit up his face, his next arrow pinning another runaway to a tree. “Five. You’re almost not a bad fighter.” 

“Same to you.” She ran toward a bandit who swung his sword in her direction, narrowly missing her cloak. When she fell to her knees and rolled left to dodge, the ice raced across the ground with her as the source and spread until it encased him like a tomb. “Seven. And glad to see my gamble on you paid off somewhat.” 

Sebastian counted on his fingers, then jabbed a finger toward each body. His mouth twisted down. “We missed one.” 

Already back to her feet, she dashed into the woods, panic intermingling with the adrenaline, her heart competing with the crunch of her boots in her ears. “No,” she cried out, tears freezing before they finished streaking down her cheeks. 

“So one got away,” Sebastian called, following not far behind her. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“He can warn the templars!” Trees frosted over as she passed, the ground hardening with each step, her panting expelled in clouded breaths. “Once they get your scent, they don’t let up, and I can’t… I can’t go to the Circle, not now, not when I’m so close to finding it.” A sweep of ice raced ahead of her at the end of her cry, flash-freezing everything in a close radius around her. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, searching for a clue, anything to lead her to the missing bandit. 

Sebastian cleared his throat from behind her. He lingered at the edge of the frost, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the trees scarred by her handiwork. “I can track him if you stop freezing everything.” His blue eyes gleamed with the ice around them, his tone quiet and self-assured, which oddly helped soothe the rapid beating of her heart. 

With a nod to give him permission, she closed her eyes and counted, letting each number and the pause between help to bring her down from her panic -- her father’s method at remaining calm in a harried situation. 

A twig snapped to their left; her eyes flew open as Sebastian pivoted his hips and fired at the origin of the sound. A thud thundered when it hit with that same wet slicking sound as before. She raced over before he could stop her, jumping over fallen logs and near slipping on the ice she created. 

The last bandit laid in a pool of his own blood, Sebastian’s arrow piercing an eye. Kicking the lump of a body for proof of death quickly followed with another then another until her grunts turned into heavy sobbing and she collapsed beside him, face buried in her hands. 

No tears came after leaving home. Not when she went to bed hungry that first night at failing to catch dinner. Nor when her purse was stolen, or nightmares reminded her of all she gave up and all she stood to lose. But now it poured forth, a dam finally broken, the force of it staggering the air in her lungs.

Sebastian fleeced the bandits while she wept, she later discovered. He also moved them away from the road to not attract any unwanted attention. And further into the forest, he found the bandit camp and food, the kind of food she originally sent him off to buy in town. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Do you know how hard it was not to title this chapter, "I'll save you from the bandits"? I mean, he does and doesn't save her, but the need to make ATLA references are strong. 
> 
> 2\. I definitely had a rant moment with Leandra and it wasn't planned. I've been going through stuff with my mom and it just sorta... inserted itself into the fic, which is *fun* in an "oh no" sort of way. 
> 
> 3\. Kalea has a lot more Emotions in this rewrite, as if that were possible. But Sebastian feels much more himself, or as he was supposed to feel. Like I didn't touch on the alcoholism before or show his sexual casualness as much (both of which are difficult to do as an "on the road" story) or make all the allusions to the life he left behind. See, this is why I needed that rewrite. 
> 
> I think I'm going to start ending each author note with a question for you readers to have fun and comment on. This chapter's question: What song should play in the background with the bandit takedown montague? You know, as if it were a movie and this is a fight scene, so obvi you need a cool soundtrack to go with it.


	6. Hope I Didn't Boar You To Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has art!

To his credit, Sebastian waited until they reached the edge of the Wilds before broaching the subject of “So, Templars,” as he eloquently put it. The two of them sat around the campfire, readying themselves for bed, his hair damp from his earlier bath in the river and darkening the collar of his shirt. This was his fourth bath since leaving Denerim three weeks ago, and it played into her growing theory of him as some sort of rich man cast out of high society, most likely for his boorish behavior. 

Her proof: He didn’t know how to cook, she discovered, with his over-eagerness to hunt the food but immediately dumping any further tasks onto her. Everyone knew how to cook, even if badly, but he outright admitted someone else always did it for him. Then his clothes and their good condition. Sebastian didn’t seem the type of man to take particular care of his clothes, and indeed, she noted some wear on the cloak the longer they traveled. His complete irresponsibility, if that counted, which she did. And the bathing and need to smell and look good at all times. Not even her mother, in all her yearning for a return to noble status, paid as much attention to her appearance as Sebastian did. 

A good list, if she did say so herself. But it only raised that many more questions about him, none of which she asked due to appreciating her own privacy. Until he broke that unspoken treaty with a “So, Templars.” 

“What about them?” It was only a matter of time before he inquired, his attitude toward her displaying subtle differences since their run-in with the bandits. More wary, for starters, though it bordered on respect, one possibly not entirely devoid of pity. He kept his distance, drinking away his spent fortune, eyes catching hers every now and again with idle curiosity. Whatever questions or comments he wished to make, he instead chewed on them, waiting for the right moment, this moment apparently. 

“If we run into one, how much trouble are we in?” 

The Templar Order were boogeymen used to keep the Hawke children in line, lest they whisk them out of bed and drag them to the Circles. Like ghosts, they lingered in every new home, a watchful eye so no one was ever truly alone. The unspoken tormentors, driving them out of their homes with nothing but what fit into the bags on their backs. 

She never met one in person, but her father told stories of their powers, the magic-draining chill that resembles a living death, the invisible shackles that wrap like snakes around limbs and paralyze, leaving mages defenseless. Magic didn’t work on them, not when taught how to purge spells or shatter them to strike back at the casters. 

“Let’s hope we don’t run into one.” 

That look again as Sebastian bit his tongue, a hooded assessment masked by the orange glow of light. From the belt on his waist, he drew out a dagger the size of his hand and threw it at her feet, where it stuck in the dirt. She flinched at the suddenness of it, a creeping heat in her cheeks as she realized her mistake. But no smirk trailed her folly. 

“I can teach you,” he said, motioning to the dagger. “You should know how to fight with more than your magic in case the worst happens.” 

The stubborn part of her wished to protest, say that she’ll be fine and return the dagger with a firm _No thank you_. But he was right on this. She needed better protection when alone, especially since he didn’t plan to stick around. “No funny business,” she said, staggering to her feet. The book of Genitivi’s research fell off her lap and onto her bedroll, long forgotten in its place prior to the conversation. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Pigeon,” he said with a wink, then took out two more daggers, these sliding down from his sleeves. _Where did he even keep those_ , she wondered. _And how many more did he have?_

Feet planted in the ground, she stared at him expectantly. “What now?” 

“Now, you attack and I counter.”

“Just like that?”

“Aye, just like that.”

“What if I hurt you?”

His grin answered the question, _as if you should be so lucky_ hardwired into that signature smirk of his. “Bit cocky for your first go-round, Pidge. Let’s make sure you can hold your weapon first.” 

Carver learned how to swing a sword while she and her sister learned magic. Sometimes, she watched him practice, noting how he held the blade and the stance he used when attacking. She mimicked it now, having very little reference otherwise to the style of technique. Yet when she charged, her dagger held in two hands high on her chest, Sebastian near barreled over in laughter. Quickly sidestepping out of her way, he parried the dagger with his own and used the opposite dagger to knock it from her hands. 

“Oh lassie,” he said with a small, incredulous shake of his head. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.” 

“Why do you care anyway?” she snapped, her pride more than a little wounded. As a mage, she excelled in the more destructive arts, sheer displays of power, of which she held what appeared an infinite supply. But as a swordswoman, her attempts were clumsy and awkward. 

“Because damsel in distress isn’t a good look on you,” he teased. “And I don’t want to waste the effort of watching your back.” 

The last remark hit like a punch to the gut. Her face burned red like fire coals as she stooped and picked up the dagger. “I did fine before you came along.” 

“You asked for my help, begged for it even, because you’re weak on your own.” He threw his weapons to the ground. “Come on, then. Prove me wrong. It’s written all over your face how much you want to.” 

With a frustrated yell, she ran at him, the dagger now in one hand and swiping wildly in the air. She nudged him back as he dodged each one before his hand came up and clamped over her wrist. When he twirled her around to draw her back into his chest, she struggled to break his hold and resume her attack. He responded by using his other arm to lock across her waist. The dagger stayed in her hand, useless from how his fingers dug in. 

“If this is your idea of fine,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, “I’d hate to see what bad looks like.” 

Tingles the likes of which she never experienced crawled up each notch of her spine; when she jerked away, out of his grasp, he let her go with an amused glint to his eyes that made her question whether or not he realized why her cheeks flamed or her heart thundered in her chest. What _was_ that? “We’re done.”

“Keep the dagger.” The air of nonchalance he exuded only irritated her more. 

The dagger ended up wrapped in her bedroll, not sure where else to carry it where it didn’t tear into something. At night, she brought it out and admired it, the weight of it -- heavier than she would’ve thought -- or the sharp point that glittered like a star when one of the moons cast its glow on the reflective surface, or the swirls that patterned on the handle, nothing discernable except for the letter V, so small she missed it several times when studying it.

The Kocari Wilds swallowed their squabbling as they passed through, the forest a dark and foreboding presence. No wind shook the branches, yet still they moved. The background noise of animals and insects died immediately upon setting foot inside. They stuck close to one another, the action unspoken but shared, both jumping at their own sounds of trampling through overgrown paths. At dusk, they quickly settled and hunted before the thick mists rolled in, enveloping the ground like a blanket. When she laid down to sleep, Kalea sometimes wondered if it would fill her lungs and choke the life from them, which made resting near impossible.

But the excitement of less than a week left before finding the temple and possibly an end to her journey also kept her awake, her mind racing with daydreams of returning home victorious, a savior, and the warm hugs to follow. 

Then one night the mist came; Sebastian did not. He usually returned quicker to their camp since entering the Wilds, and worry sprouted like a weed in her stomach, unwanted and fast-growing. Time stretched on, the fire dying down twice before she used her magic to reflame the logs. The dense fog swallowed the outside world, and even if she left to search, no way could she find the path back. Only waiting remained a viable option. 

The soft sound of shuffling broke the silent spell cast over her camp after hours spent letting her anxiety corrode the edges of her thoughts. She jumped from her bedroll, fire sparking at her fingertips as she stood by, uncertain if enemy or companion approached. 

Sebastian stumbled into camp, a hand anchored on his side, a dark stain ruining his otherwise white shirt. Without a request for assistance, she darted over, arms circling him to help him maneuver toward his bedroll. His dark skin paled, even in the low light, slick with sweat and sticking to where she pressed against him. After laying him down and using a nearby log to prop him up, her palm coated with frost as she pressed it to his forehead. He moaned as the cold made contact, dark lashes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake. 

“What happened?” Using her other hand, she carefully chased him away from his wound. Blood flowed, now unhindered, and she quickly replaced his hand back down. What did she know of healing magic? Her power rooted in destruction, a fact she flaunted over her sister’s more delicate arts. But now, she desperately needed the very magic she mocked. 

And Sebastian would die because of it. 

“Boar,” he groaned, his voice raspy and low as he fought out each word with his shallow breathing. “Mama… defe… sive…”

“Idiot,” she murmured. Careful not to jostle him too much, she slid his shirt over his head to better glimpse the wound. Two deep puncture marks right into his left side, blood cutting wide rivers down. It looked bad, deadly even. 

No potions, no magic. He would bleed out here and she could only sit and watch it happen. 

_Try anyway._

The thought rang with an unfamiliar voice but carried a strong compulsion with it. She almost glanced around to see who said it, as if an instruction whispered in her ear. But that was ridiculous, right?

Still, she hovered her hands close to his wounds, not expecting anything to happen. Healing was a natural gift, then a trained art, and she-

A green spark left her fingertips before spreading out to envelope her hands. A warm, tingling, strange sensation took over, drawing up her energy enough to slow the bleeding down to a mere trickle. Sebastian whimpered, tossing his head to the side as the magic entered him, the threads of it patching him up until it left only a set of matching scars.

And then the tingle left as quickly as it appeared, the glow dissipating, a cold sensation left behind in its wake. Kalea stared down at her palms, bringing them up closer to her face for inspection. _What in the Maker’s name was that?_ It didn’t feel like her magic, not in its spread or flow that typically originated from her chest and expanded outward. No, this started and ended at her hands, as if temporarily possessed. Did all healing spells work that way? It unsettled her quite honestly, not enough to attempt it again. 

His eyes stayed closed, and she grabbed a washcloth from his pack and wet it with her magic to clean him up. A wince crossed his face when she touched the scars, even gingerly as she did, and she did nothing more than a brief sweep in response. 

Throughout the night, she kept vigil, watching him and the scars carefully to make sure he didn’t contract blood fever or the wounds grow infected as animal-inflicted ones were apt to do. He didn’t wake again, and more than a few times, she relaid her frosted palm back to his forehead when she spotted his discomfort.

By dawn, sleep threatened to hold her captive, her chin touching her chest more than once as her eyelids fluttered closed, burning and heavy from lack of rest. The mist cleared with the sun, fading back into the ground as though never there.

A rustle brought her back to awareness, and as she glanced at the source of the faint noise, bleary blue eyes met hers. With a cross between a grin and a grimace, Sebastian struggled to push himself up and sit higher. Crawling across the gap, she placed a gentle hand on his chest and nudged him back to laying down. 

“Careful. I don’t want you to tear something. I’m not sure how well that spell worked.” 

He stopped attempting to right himself, and his gaze traveled from her face to her hand, pressed flat on his bare chest. Flustered at realizing what this might look like, she startled backward to sit on her heels, her gaze falling on her clenched hands in her lap. 

“Good to know I have to get hurt in order for you to undress me.” His voice scratched with disuse. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” 

“Next time, I might let the Maker take you instead,” she flushed, her gaze flickering off the ground to the cocky smirk drawing back his lips in a show of teeth. 

But all too quickly it faded as his attention fell to his side, where the scars marred his otherwise unblemished skin. His fingertips hovered over the one closer to the center of his stomach as if deciding whether or not to risk touching it. “You did this?” His eyes raised to meet hers. 

“I- I’m not sure. I mean, it was me, technically, but…” If she explained how wrong and foreign the magic felt as she utilized it, would he understand? She barely understood it herself. What happened last night? She shouldn’t have been able to do that, yet somehow she did. 

“I guess I owe you one then, Pidge.” He ignored the hesitancy in her reply, instead marveling at the patchwork. “So, thanks I guess.” 

“Ah, you don’t…” She expected no gratitude from him, especially because he wouldn’t have been in this situation if not for accompanying her in the first place. He put his life on the line, and for what? He knew nothing about their journey, about what she sought. 

It was time to come clean, even if it resulted in him storming off in a tirade. He deserved to know the reason for all this. 

“Sebastian,” she said, and a hush fell between them. She never said his name before, not out loud. “I should tell you why we’re out here, what it is I’m hoping to find.”

“The Urn of Sacred Ashes,” he said, and when her mouth opened in surprise, he gestured toward the pile of her things. “You read that damn book so much, I wanted to see what had you so enraptured.” 

_Asshole_ came to her immediate thought, and her tongue curled with condemnation at invading her privacy. What if she kept a journal? Did he hope to find her innermost thoughts? 

But even with the truth, he stayed. Did he know the rumors? Did he realize what it was? “It’s supposed to be a myth, a fairytale.” 

He shrugged with a wince, what she assumed a stiffness or soreness still in the newly healed muscles on his side. “You must be desperate then.”

A bitter laugh broke out of her throat, his words the understatement of this entire trip, of the past year as physickers and alchemists and healers came to their little house in Highever, each one walking away with their heads down. “It’s my father,” she said. “He’s dying and no one can figure out why and I thought… Desperate is a good way to put it.” 

Those blue eyes studied her as if for the first time, and she shivered as though naked to them. What happened now? Half of her expected him to get up and leave, not signing up for her family drama. But he didn’t, instead waving away her concerns with his hand. “Frankly, I’m not interested in the Ashes or your reasons for finding them. You wanted me to accompany you to wherever the fuck, and that’s what I mean to do.”

“My mother said I was insane to chase them down,” she said, shame spreading like a blush over her cheeks.

“Aye, you’re batshit crazy.” The smile on his face was the only thing keeping her heart from sinking down into the pit of her stomach. “But I’ve always found normal people to be boring. So I’ll be here for the long run if you don’t mind. I’m invested now on whether or not you succeed.” 

Her heart skipped a beat or two as the shame faded into a different kind of blush. No one aside from Carver believed in this search. For this stranger to do so, even in the callous way of putting it… “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” 

“Aye, well… don’t get used to it. You’re fortunate I have nothing better to do with my time.” Was it a trick of the light, or did she spot a slight pink dusting to his cheeks as he averted his gaze? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by cake-warlock. [See it on tumblr.](https://cake-warlock.tumblr.com/post/612334167856939008/commission-for-joufancyhuh-of-a-scene-from-their)
> 
> What happened to Kalea with the healing? That will get explained in my Birds of a Feather fic, but hints will be dropped in this one. I'm curious to any theories you have working. 
> 
> Doing ye old "compare the original and the rewrite", this is giving me a better chance to showcase Sebastian teaching Kalea how to be more rogue-like and how to fight and I'm excited for that chance. Also the many more flirty moments that will arise from it. I mean, she's naive but she's not weak, and it's been a lot of fun and frustration on how to balance that. 
> 
> My beta says she likes Sebastian, or growing to like him, but he's on thin ice. And Sebastian is known as such a sweet guy. I realize that this is a super niche fic and some might see this as OOC, so I can't begin to express how grateful I am for any comments or kudos this gets. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. 
> 
> And now for your question of the chapter: Who would you most like to make a cameo in this story from Dragon Age Origins?


	7. What's A Little Sacrilege Between Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fever dream has not died. It's just I'm going through some things with my family right now and writing some of this has hit a little close to home, if that wasn't apparent by the Leandra rant I had a few chapters back. Things are not good and writing about losing a family member, I'm not sure how well I can do it justice right now. I'm going to keep pushing forward with this story, and who knows, maybe all this will pass by the time it gets brought up again. Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Next one will be sooner than a couple of weeks.

The Temple of Shartan, or the ruins of it, sat in the bottom of what Kalea considered a crater. Once proud spires built from stone sunk into the ground at odd angles while time toppled over their pointed cones. Rocky debris littered the grass, blocking a direct path to the entrance. Amidst the detritus of neglect, webs strewn with dead leaves and wrapped wildlife -- or at least what she hoped to be animals -- dangled like ghostly apparitions. Though the sun shone above, the dense forest canopy blocked most of the light, the wiry white strands giving off an ethereal glow in the forced twilight. 

Sebastian hovered close to Kalea’s side, trepidation in his open gaze at the webs. “I’m beginning to rethink this partnership, lass.” His fingers twitched by his side, pantomiming nocking an arrow; she recognized the motions from their fight with the bandits. 

The urge to poke fun at his discomfort came and went like an ocean tide. Who knew what awaited them inside? Somehow, she doubted the small spiders she dealt with at home created those webs. If her focus on the Ashes didn’t block out all else, she too would share more readily in Sebastian’s fear. 

At least spiders were extremely flammable. 

The grand oak doors opened when shoved hard enough, one less thing to worry about, and the two of them ventured inside. Dull light shone through cracks in the ceiling, widened by ivy and various roots; it smelled of damp earth and musty air that sat dormant for centuries. Rainwater pooled beneath skylights or along the edges of rooms. 

They reached the end of the first floor and found a stairwell leading into pitch-black darkness. Without prompting, she drew a small fireball into her hand with just enough light to see a few feet ahead. 

“So what are we looking for exactly?” Sebastian’s voice, while low, echoed through the emptiness of the temple. “Is there going to be an arrow that points us in the right direction that says, _Come see the Urn of Sacred Ashes, right this way, only five sovereigns for a pinch_?”

“The book suggested an inner sanctum,” Kalea shrugged, not sure what else to say. An arrow or map of any kind would be helpful, the hallway on this new floor more of a maze. Twice, they took a wrong turn into empty chambers. Whatever their prior use, that history faded with the destruction of the temple. Now they sat vacant, possibly picked over by treasure hunters, which didn’t bode well for her own hunt. 

“Inner sanctums are typically guarded ones. Did your book suggest what we might come up against?”

Right, of course, the Urn wouldn’t sit out in the open for simply anyone to find. Her mind struggled to recall the exact phrase Genitivi used in the text. “ _Her most loyal protects Andraste, even in death_. It’s why Brother Genitivi thought the Ashes were here. It’s part of a song. He also suggested the temple might be defended.” 

“Oh great,” he groaned, and she didn’t need to spare a glance to know he rolled his eyes. “Facts like these would be good to know _before_ we step inside.”

Down another stairwell they went, the temperature dropping lower with their descent. Breaths floated from between their lips in visible puffs, both of them drawing their cloaks tighter to help edge out the cold. Her fireball grew in size, the thrum of magic under her skin aiding with its warmth. 

A banshee scream reverberated through the empty corridor, originating from behind her. She spun on her heels, flames at ready to strike, only to find Sebastian twisting in a large web, near weeping in hysterics. The chuckle she gave only irritated him more. “Don’t just stand there, Pigeon, help me!”

Drawing in close, her fingers touched a strand by his head, the fire in her fingertips burning through most of the material. When released, he dusted himself off, expression soured. “And you called me the damsel in distress,” she teased, plucking a piece of webbing still attached to his cloak and reducing it to cinders between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Haha, you’re so hilarious,” he deadpanned. His mouth opened as if to continue on, but his lips popped open in a surprised “O” the same time a loud hiss sounded at her back. When she twirled to face it, her flames cast out in an arch, catching the giant spider - big enough for her to ride - by one of its many legs. It screeched as the flame engulfed it, curling the carcass in on itself as it did. 

Something hit her back, and she twisted around, ready to attack, only to knock into Sebastian as he readied an arrow, terror written across his face. “Maker’s fucking ass, fucking motherfuckers.” His cursing came out in a ghost of a whisper as he took aim at one of the large spiders on his side of the hall. More trailed in behind it, staring with glassy black eyes and quivering palps, their sinister hissing sending a series of violent shivers racing down her spine. 

“Duck,” was all she said, and he scrambled as she arched her attack past him. The spiders recoiled, reeling back on four legs before scrambling up the walls. As she tossed fire in their direction, Sebastian hitting them with his arrows, their numbers only grew, their hissing now a loud chorus. 

An arm slipped around her waist, tugging her deeper into the hallway. “There’s too many of them,” he said as he dragged her back. “We should run.” 

While she agreed with him, even though she loathed the idea of running from a fight, the notion of another dead end made her hesitant to follow. Or what if they ran into something worse? 

But Sebastian didn’t share her sentiment, eager to get away and already lengthening the distance between them, leaving her to fend off the spiders by herself. “Come on,” he shouted as he rounded a corner. She followed by backing up, throwing fireball after fireball toward the encroaching mass of spiders. Her powers waned the longer she kept it up, waves of exhaustion rocking her like an ocean’s lull. How much longer could she stand to fight them?

A hand clamped around her wrist and dragged her forward. “Did you not comprehend what _run_ meant?” And they took off, doing their best to ignore the scurrying sounds at their backs while she focused on lighting the way forward. No dead-end this time thankfully, instead discovering another staircase leading down into a room with an open set of heavy doors. Her magic winked out as she and Sebastian shouldered them closed. A heavy bar across fortified their new safe haven. 

Both of them stood by the entrance panting, though Kalea suspected his labored breathing arose from fear. Sure enough, after another drawn-out gasp of air, he said, “That was too close.” 

“Let’s hope we don’t have to go back that way.” It took a few tries for her magic to reignite, vision swimming the longer it held. By the doorway, she noticed a torch and wasted no time yanking it down and lighting the end, allowing her to release her power at last. “Where are we?” 

Marble and gold statues alternated in a short row that lead to another door, this one closed with carved designs like a story woven across it. Sebastian pointed to a nearby statue, then flicked the top of his ears. “Judging from the decor, I’d guess the outer sanctum.” He planted himself in front of a large statue, hands on his hips as he looked it over. “So this is Shartan.” 

“The Chantry refuses to recognize the Canticle of Shartan, so why build him this temple?” 

“It’s possible the Chantry didn’t build it.” 

“Then who did?” Kalea leaned the torch closer to the script written across the base of a nearby statue. The foreign words gleamed in the torchlight, _Fen’Harel ma ghilana. Dareth shiral va uthenera mirthadra_. “Whatever happened to Shartan? The stories don’t talk about how he died, or when.”

“Maybe he never did,” Sebastian countered with a raise of his eyebrow, followed by a laugh. “The Chantry never cared about elves. I wouldn’t be surprised if they buried this place themselves.” 

“Why go through the effort?”

“Why are you asking me like I have all the answers?” 

“I’m simply thinking out loud. Sheesh.” She started to move closer to the door, but his hand reached out and yanked her back. 

“Careful,” he said and pointed toward the tile she almost stepped on. “I’ve noticed more than a few traps scattered about.” As if to prove his point, he ducked down and lightly pressed the title with his palm. Immediately, fire shot out from two of the Shartan statues, aiming above his head. 

“Fan-freaking-tastic. So how do we get to the door?” 

“Follow me.” Back on his feet, he jumped from tile to tile, a delicate dance as to not touch any of the surrounding pieces. Her ungraceful movements poorly mimicked his, and when she tripped on the last tile, about to fall back onto one of the traps, he caught her and brought her forward into his chest with a laugh. “Nice moves there, Pidge.” 

She shoved him off, though not before catching a whiff of sandalwood from his soaps, intermingled with the scent of dried blood on his shirt and the resin from his arrows. Maker, the smell of him left her knees weak, though that could’ve been on account of how exhausted all that magic use left her. Definitely not because of him and how she considered for a brief moment burying her face into the side of his neck and resting there for a moment or two. His arms still around her, holding tight ...

 _Focus_. 

That glittery writing from before spelled out in a half-circle across the door. Under the firelight, the letters shifted and rearranged themselves into her language. _Only those of pure intentions may pass_. Below it, a carving of Andraste, a golden sun shimmering behind her head. 

“I guess that leaves you out,” Kalea nudged him in the stomach.

But surprisingly, he ignored the jest at his expense, his hand extending forward to trace over the picture of Andraste, or more importantly, her ears. “Fuck me,” he hissed, his attention then shifting to her hands. Both with palms up, both reflecting a green glow that reminded Kalea of the healing spell she performed earlier that week. 

“Is that … ?”

“Shit, maybe the Chantry really did destroy this place. It’d make sense, why they essentially erased Shartan. Because they knew.” 

“An elf mage doesn’t have the same strength to it,” she agreed. “If people knew the truth…”

“The Chantry would lose all its power.” The cackle that followed startled her, and she drew away from him. “If we could bring back proof, do you know what this means?” 

“It doesn’t matter. The Chantry would make sure it never saw the light of day.” The way they typically handled all magic-related things, including their own people. With a sigh, she fiddled with the strings of her pack. “I’ll write it in the book, but I’m not sure what good it will do.” 

“Where’s that hopeful optimism of yours?” His hand fell away as his attention shifted in her direction. 

She ignored his question in favor of pushing open the doors. They gave with considerable ease, and despite the warning on the door, both of them stumbled inside with no problems or further traps. Was her intention pure? She had a lot of time to think about the selfishness of it, of wanting to keep her father alive when so many people suffered, to leave his side in order to keep him near. 

Everyone died eventually, and she merely sought to delay the inevitable. She knew this, knew the truth of it, yet still …

The inner sanctum consisted of a long pool of dark water that rippled with their footsteps. Two braziers of fire stood at the far end by an uplifted altar, burning bright and strong despite the obvious years of neglect. _Magic_. That was a good sign they were on the right path. 

A large, golden statue of Andraste glittered in the firelight, the altar entered to her feet. The statue was infinite, reaching toward a black sky that swallowed her upper half. Was the temple even big enough to hold her? Yet neither saw Her Most Holy’s face poking from the ground on their way inside. 

“What now?” Sebastian’s voice faded into the background, drowned out by the rapid hammering of her pulse in her ears. After a few clumsy steps forward, close enough now to see it clearly -- the altar stood empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elvhen says, "The Dread Wolf guides you. Safe journey to honored slumber." I'm not saying that Hawke and Sebastian woke up Solas from his sleep, but...
> 
> Also absolutely implying Solas was Shartan. Shh. Just let me have my headcanons. 
> 
> Your question, should you choose to answer: what do you think Sebastian smells like?


	8. And The Author Said, "Let There Be Tropes"

The wintry air nipped at Kalea’s thin clothing as she perched on the wooden post fence in the village square to give her aching feet a rest. Her breath floated in short puffs, too afraid to use the thrum of her magic to stay warm. With Lake Calenhad and its Circle nearby, that posed too great a risk. 

Sebastian, with his lofty air of indifference, tossed breadcrumbs at the village’s centerpiece attraction. The golem saw better days, and local kids painted its stones or carved their initials into it. Whatever its use before, now it merely stood there, Honnleath’s one interesting feature in an otherwise boring place. 

“Don’t forget we need two tents - _two_ \- and insulated clothing, probably some boots, as well … are you even listening?” Her nostrils flared as he raised his head to tip one of the nearby local men a wink. When she kicked a foot out in his direction, he leaned away from it, feigning guilt in the apologetic smile he shot her way. 

“Aye, lass, I heard you. Though I don’t know why I’m spending _my_ hard-earned share on things _you_ need.” 

“Because I bought food and the room for tonight.” When his attention drew back to the group, she suppressed a sigh. _Not that you’ll be sleeping in it_. She also paid the courier who charged extra to cart all those books from the Temple to Denerim, but bringing that up would only get used against her. Her prerogative, not his. 

A month had passed since their failure to find the Ashes at the Temple of Shartan, but it did catch them their next lead. One of the few readable texts there suggested Andraste returned to her Alamarri clan with an apology, her clan’s origins based on the other side of the Frostback Mountains. Kalea copied the maps into her book of research, along with a few key phrases. Another book echoed the sentiment of the Frostbacks as well, though remained vague as to where. Her dead-end at least opened the path for a way forward, so she wasn’t giving up, not yet. 

They were fools to cross the mountains in the dead of winter, the lady at the front desk implied when she checked them into the room. But Kalea didn’t plan to wait around for spring’s arrival, not when she was this close to her goal, not when her father’s sickness wouldn’t wait for her return. 

“I’m trusting you on this,” she muttered, kicking a foot out in his direction, her lips pinched together in a pout. “I swear, if you come back with more alcohol and tell me that’ll keep us warmer than clothing will …” 

“I’m not a blasted idiot, Pidge,” he growled, his smile fading with annoyance. 

“Then don’t bloody act like one.” Her body trembled as a spike of wind blew down the back of her shirt. 

Her poor attempt to hide her shivering caught his notice. He scooted close enough to press his side against her knee before reaching out and cupping her cheeks, concern swimming in those blue eyes she quickly met with surprise before glancing away. Either due to his hands or their placement, her cheeks warmed beneath his palms as she avoided eye contact, and if her face weren’t pale from the cold, it would no doubt grow tomato red. “Why didn’t you say something about being cold, lass?” 

Her heart hammered so loud in her chest that it felt like it might break free from beneath her rib cage at any moment and make a grand escape out into the wild. It did that a lot these days, especially when he touched her, accidentally or intentionally. With weapons-training passing their nights on the road, the storms in her skin grew with frequency, aiding in the loss of her matches against him. Was he always so distracting before? 

If he noticed any change, he maintained his indifference. 

“Go inside,” he said at last, his hands falling back to his sides. “I’ll return later with your supplies.” When she neglected to move, he sighed and tapped her knee with his knuckles. “You have my word.” 

An involuntary snort left her throat. “And how much is that worth?” 

With a roll of his eyes but the nudge of a smile, he said, “I’ll behave. Mostly.” His gaze traveled from her back to the villagers, his grin shifting into a hungry appreciation for the people that lingered there. 

She jumped down. Whether or not she believed him, her fingers encroached a painful numbness and her thighs ached from the cold. Time to go curl up by the hearth and leave him to do his business. He’d return, but in the meantime, that left the room to herself, a blissful night of not dealing with him and this awkward awareness that his presence created. 

The large room contained a small bed and a couch, a desk with paper and ink she planned to take advantage of later, and a small table with two chairs that wobbled when sat in. The windowsill jutted out enough for a seat, decorated with various pillows and cushions. Grabbing herself a piece of the blackberry pie she bought - a splurge, but one well worth it - she dragged the comforter off the bed to throw around her shoulders and curled up on the couch, watching the flames dance while she munched. 

Yes, a quiet evening sounded nice … No Sebastian, no searching, and most importantly, no sleeping on the ground. After finishing her pie and licking the gooey crumbs off her fingers, she leaned into the arm of the couch, sleep overtaking her at once. 

The sound of the door opening startled her awake some time later. Sebastian grinned sheepishly from the entrance, and in the soft lighting of the embers in the hearth, his cheeks flushed dark. Even from the couch, she smelled the boozy scent wafting from his direction. “Sor, wee Pidge. I nay mean to wake ye.” Liquored up, his strong accent stumbled from his mouth in a similar fashion to his steps forward. 

His pack, heavy with what she hoped were the goods needed for their travels, crashed to the floor seconds before he fell face-first onto the bed. 

He never indulged to this extent out on the road, but paced himself instead, perhaps aware of his dwindling supply of wine. Practicing the sneaking techniques he taught her, she slipped off the couch and crept closer to where he laid, motionless. “Bash?” Her whisper drew in deafening silence, only shattered with a lethargic moan as he half-turned his face in the mattress and peeked one glazed eye out. “Are you alright?” 

“Better than alright,” he mumbled into the mattress, the one eye blinking in slow procession. When she lingered too long, crouching by the side of the bed, he rolled onto his back with a groan. “Don worree about me, lass. Ye can’t have a night as I had and nay have a grand time.” 

Her arm can up to rest on top of the bed, and when posing the question burning in her throat, she ducked her head into the crook of her elbow, only peeking out bashful eyes that fluttered with her inquiry. “Is it … really so great? What you do with them?” The words rang of unposed questions from her days at The Pearl. To most of the workers, it was a job, not something they sought out. But Sebastian treated the act like a compulsion, always thinking about it, always working toward that endless goal. Why it mattered so much to him when the people involved never did, the logic behind it captivated her. 

“Fucking, ye mean?” His head lolled to the side to get a clear look at her; she returned to fully hiding in her arm, face hot with embarrassment. He was so … blatant about it. Nonchalant. And she so very much was not. 

He barked a laugh at the silence that answered while she cringed at her own awkwardness. Her hair ruffled as she hid, making her feel all the more childish. “Ye can say the word. It wonn bite ye.”

“Fine,” she murmured, poking her head up and shooing his hand away to land on his chest. “Yes. Sex. I meant sex.” Her cheeks down to her chest flamed like embers in a newborn hearth, her heart pounding so fast and hard that she considered if actually speaking the word aloud gave her a full-blown panic attack. But no, the origin came from the grinning imbecile who maneuvered onto his side and stared at her with eyes that lit up a vibrant blue even in the dark, possibly from his own amusement over her clear discomfort. 

“And what does the wee pigeon want to know, hm? Or perhaps ye prefer a demonstration?” 

When he reached out and twirled a strand of hair between his fingers, she prided herself over the fact that she didn’t flinch at the suddenness. Neither did she shove him away, her breathing labored at the direction their conversation headed. She didn’t … did she? Want that? With him? 

“I-” she started before her voice seized by the sizeable lump in her throat. Images filled her head of his lips on hers, the sensation of such a kiss, her hands combing through his hair, how he tasted. His hands beneath her shirt and up her back, her legs straddling his lap … 

Sebastian cut her off, possibly taking pity on her frozen state. “Takin’ advantage of my drunken state, Pigeon? And here I thought better of ye, lass.” But the wink he tossed her way before releasing her hair sold his words with jest. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Forget it,” she muttered, too embarrassed to spare more than a passing glance in his direction. Why did she bring this up? And why these unsolicited ideas involving him? 

“Donn beeee a tease, Pidge.” His words slurred, his head struggling to remain upright as it nodded and rocked back and forth. “Ask yer questions.” 

“What’s the appeal?” She ducked low into her arm again but kept her eyes up enough for a careful study of his reaction. When he didn’t readily give one, or a verbal response, she prodded a little deeper. “Isn’t it … lonely? To do … that, and then leave?” She had … ideas, and maybe they belonged to those romance stories in Bethany’s books that she gushed over, but they did call it _making love_ , right? So what did Sebastian do exactly? He clearly didn’t love them, and if it wasn’t a job and wasn’t some sweeping gesture of romance … 

“Preferable to not doing it.” He fell onto his stomach but wiggled around enough until his face stationed closer to hers. With his arms folded across the bed, he dug his chin into them and stared at her, causing another flush to sweep across her cheeks. From the short distance, his breath tickled the small hairs on her arm. 

“But why do it at all?” 

He shrugged, then rested his ear against his shoulder, though his eyes remained glued to hers. The glassiness of the alcohol in his gaze faded into a sharper clarity that scratched along her skin the longer his eyes rested on her. As if he saw into her and knew her every thought. 

“I’ll answer yer question, but only if ye answer one of mine. Deal?” 

“That seems only fair.” Her words accompanied a short nod. “What’s your question?” 

When his tongue darted out to lick his lips, only then did his gaze travel away to land on the bed between them. “Ye …” He shook his head as if erasing the word to begin anew. “What is it ye want from me?” 

The question took her by surprise. She straightened up, unburying her face to slide completely off the bed. “What I want from you?” 

“Aye. All ye want something, best get it out now.” 

What did she want from him? As she watched him, half-awake and waiting for an answer, the realization hit that maybe she desired more than the original protection detail. She grew to tolerate, but then actually enjoy his company, liked having him around. It made this whole mess with her father that much more bearable. 

“I think … I mean, I know I don’t want anything from you. Not anymore. It’s simply … good. To have a friend … We are friends, aren’t we? By this point? That’s why you’ve stuck around, isn’t it?” 

“Nay, ye already asked yer question. No more.” But a soft smile parted his lips. “As for my answer, it’s … nice, I guess, to have someone who wants to be with ye. And yer there, really there, and not thinking about the things ye don’t want to be thinking about.” 

His voice and the answer he gave tinged with deep sorrow that tugged at her heart to hear it. She almost wanted to reach out, pat him on the back or thread her fingers through his hair, some sort of comforting gesture to make it stop, but he stole away a response by burying his head into his arms and letting out a muffled, “Now let me sleep, ye squawking pigeon.” 

Her own tiredness attempted to tug her back to the couch, but she paused after standing, glancing down where he laid without a blanket. The room only had one, an oversight, and it was too late to ask the woman at the front desk for another. Yanking her comforter off the couch, she pitched it over her shoulders and dragged it back to throw over him. His awkward position horizontal across the bed meant she had to lay the same, but she grabbed a pillow by the headboard first. As she snuggled to the very edge of the blanket as allowed, Sebastian’s legs resting against hers, she whispered, “For what it’s worth, I like having you with me.” 

No response came, not that she expected. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes and waited for morning. 

Sebastian tossed and turned in his sleep all night, at one point grabbing Kalea and burrowing his face into her neck. Which made anything more than closing her eyes impossible. When the grey light of dawn filtered through the drawn curtains, she gave up the farce of resting and untangled herself the near-dead man with whom she shared the bed. She envied his ability to doze so thoroughly that not even pushing him away woke him, such stark contrast to her immediate awareness when so much as a small sound or shift happened in her vicinity. To sleep so soundly was a luxury never afforded. 

Another piece of pie made up her breakfast, a large helping this time, and she slid onto the cold desk chair after throwing a log into the hearth. Her duty as the runaway daughter called at last for its due, and she wet her quill with ink before considering what to say. 

Who should she address the letter to? Each rendition in her head began with an apology for stealing away in the middle of the night, leaving despite the argument for her to stay with them and not search for a cure, to accept the fate resigned to her father. But how could she give up with such a finality without exploring every option? Was her only choice to sit by his bedside as his spark dimmed more with each passing day? 

Her mother considered her reckless, irresponsible, abandoning their family in a time of need. Bethany begged her to stay as well, but Carver … he knew the truth, helped her sneak out that night. 

“Father,” the letter began, the _F_ blotted from the quill pausing too long on the parchment. 

She chewed her lip while mulling over the details of her journey thus far. The choice to exclude Sebastian came easy -- what would they think of her, traveling with a stranger who shared in the secret of her magic, who worked to teach her how to defend herself from templars … who shared a bed with her last night. Her gaze stole in his direction over her shoulder, his dark frame still sprawled across the mattress. His face turned in her direction, rogue strands of dawn-lit hair falling across his closed eyes, mouth slack with the soft flutterings of his breath -- how did she dare to put him and the confusion he stirred into words?

And of the Temple of Shartan? To describe the dangers and her first failure -- the confidence of her message weak when accompanied by the rich details of the months past. It would shatter their hope in her and the mission. 

The quill returned to the inkwell for another dip while she contemplated. What did that leave her to say?

“I miss you. I’d ask after your health, but I fear I already know the answer. I’ll spare you my stories until I’m back again by your side where you can worry no more. I don’t know when it’ll be possible for me to return, the Urn of Sacred Ashes remains elusive, but my hopes are high and Maker willing, I will not fail you and this family.” 

What else did she say? Speak about how she ached with small reminders of her family, how ill-prepared she was to go off on her own? How she wished to spend Satinalia by their sides instead of on the road and cold? 

“I’m not sorry I left. You taught me to follow my beliefs, and that led me here. Pray for my safe return, and know that it'll be with your cure. Until then, stay strong.” She signed it, “All my love,” then her name. To seal it, she grabbed the red wax stick and took it to the fireplace, lighting the end and hurrying back over to drip onto the parchment. The seal itself was of a small bird. Fitting, considering her namesake. 

They stopped by the courier stall on their way out of town, and Sebastian raised his eyebrow as she handed over the letter with directions. “More letters? This Genitivi is a popular lad.” 

“My family this time,” she corrected. “They deserve to know … they deserve to know.” 

“Know what exactly?” 

The snow-covered mountains loomed ahead. It would take another month to cross them, if they were lucky and made good time. Sebastian did right by her upholding the end of his supply run, her fur-lined boots warm and fitted, her royal blue cloak trimmed with white snug and buttoned up to the collar. Gloves, too, even though she didn’t ask for them. 

“That I’m alive. That I’m not in the Circle like my mother assumed I would be if I left.”

He snorted. “She sounds lovely.” 

“She’s … “ Best not get into that conversation with him. The words on her tongue stung with betrayal, even when not spoken aloud. The guilt expertly sewn by her mother into each child. “What about your family? You don’t really speak about them. Do they know you’re in Ferelden?”

Both hands ran through his shaggy hair, good-humor sucked out of his expression with a slight clench of his jaw and a downward tilt to his lips. “I doubt they’d care even if they knew. We’re … not exactly close.” He shoved his hands into his pocket, sloping forward and shrinking away from her. “Look Pidge, I’m not real keen on having a heart-to-heart with you about this, so let’s drop it, aye?”

“O-okay,” she said, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. Not that she wanted to discuss her mother either. Unsure of what else to say, the two stomped through the tension, up the path and into the Frostback Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, there's no way Shale didn't have graffiti on her. Kids draw on and carve everything. They are destructive forces of nature. 
> 
> Second, my beta says she has now a begrudging acceptance of Sebastian. I consider this a victory. 
> 
> I honestly might get some art done of Sebastian and Kalea staring/talking, arms on the bed, faces close. /swoons/ Or attempt to draw it myself. 
> 
> Your question for this chapter: What has been your favorite moment thus far between these two?


	9. The Urn of What?

“So now what?” Sebastian parked himself below the rock outcropping where Kalea spread out her maps, comparing them with the vast Basin below. Her eyes traced paths and out along the coastline, searching for familiarity, a sign to point them in the right direction. 

“You read the same texts I did. There wasn’t an exact location where she might be.” 

“If I recall correctly,” he said, munching on a rabbit leg leftover from yesterday’s dinner. “The books referred more to her tribe than her ashes.” 

“Your point?” Annoyance tinged the short statement. The two had begun to grate at one another in the long span of a month and a half, no one else on the roads to break up the monotony of each other’s company. Food ran scarce and nights huddled in tents and bedrolls did little to break up the permanent cold settled into their bones. So they picked and snapped and Kalea found herself wishing she’d undertake this journey solo instead.

He jabbed a finger close to where the mountains and coast met, three huts barely visible in the shadows. “We go there, ask after the local tribes.” 

“I’m sure Andraste’s people have moved on since she died.” Her tone soured and she rocked her head side to side in a mocking gesture. 

“Then why the fuck are we even here?” He burrowed his face down into the fluffy collar of his cloak. “I mean it. Why come all this way if we’re not going to exhaust every lead?” 

Careful not to accidentally swoosh any maps off the edge of the cliff, she raised her hands up in defeat. “Fine! We’ll go if only to shut off your useless prattling.” Shoving the papers back into the book, she added, “We’re here for what remains of the tribe, for your information. Any clues they might’ve left behind.” After securing the straps of her pack over her shoulders, she jumped down, landing in front of him with a scowl. “What makes you think they’re friendly?” 

“Well, we don’t have many other choices, do we, lass?” 

It took a full day to arrive below, and maybe it was the prospect of success or simply a chance for outside company, but their bickering broke away from its usual excess into silence, punctuated only by the crunch of snow under their boots or the lap of the ocean tide against the shore. Salty, bitter winds nipped the ends of their red noses, resulting in both of them raising their hoods in synchronicity to help block out the biting temperature. 

When they neared, a bulky figure stood on the porch of one of the huts, an arrow primed in their direction. When released, the arrow landed too close to Kalea’s boot for comfort; Sebastian’s fingers graced the tip of the bow on his back, but she waved him off with the raise of a hand. “No further,” the woman on the front porch growled, face dark and undefined in shadow.

“We’re only seeking to talk,” Kalea said, careful not to move too quickly and startle the stranger. 

“The Avvar want no part in your world. Leave now. My next shot won’t miss.” 

Sebastian and Kalea exchanged a glance, both aware that returning to the mountains would surely kill them given the dwindling supplies. “Say the word …” he muttered.

“Don’t,” she warned with a shake of her head. To the woman, she shouted, “I’m here to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

“The Urn of what?” 

Sebastian, despite Kalea’s clear order to hold off, swung his bow down and fired off a shot. The woman dodged with a roll to the side, then responded one of her own, aimed directly at Kalea.

“Enough!” Kalea roared, casting about a whirlwind to knock the arrow off its path and safely away from her. Glowering at Sebastian, she scolded, “I said we came to talk and I mean it! Ass!” 

“She shot first,” he whined, kicking some loose snow in her direction. 

“A warning shot, and you know it.” Her hands clenched in fists, she shot one more menacing glare to the overly eager archer on her right before returning her attention to the woman. With a small bow, she said, “My apologies. My companion can get a little … excited at times.” 

The woman pointed at Kalea then clapped her hands together, rocking on the heels of her feet. “A shaman!” 

Sebastian and Kalea exchanged another glance. “Shaman?” he mouthed, quirking an eyebrow. She shrugged, sharing in his confusion. 

“You must meet my Thane,” the woman said, now hurrying toward them. Sebastian stiffened at the approach, the impulse to fight flaring back up, but Kalea trusted her instinct and let the woman approach. This stranger didn’t threaten to turn Kalea in with the templars -  _ Did Avvar and the Alamarri even have templars? _ \- and actually appeared … enthusiastic about Kalea’s abilities. 

As the distance closed between them, smaller details came into focus about the woman. Blue paint streaked down her wrinkled face, dark hair streaked with white hung in a braid over one shoulder. She, like themselves, drew her hood up, her grey snow-cloud eyes warm as they met Kalea. Sebastian, she ignored entirely, but not without angling a foot in his direction as if ready for another surprise attack. Smart woman. 

“Come with me, Shaman of the Mountain Path.” The woman’s lips stretched in a toothy grin and she held out a gloved hand. 

“And what of my friend? I know his manners are … lacking, but I need him with me.” 

As if to reiterate her point, Sebastian replaced his bow behind him, then held out his hands for the woman to see the lack of weapons. Not that it did any good; if the woman had Kalea’s knowledge, she would have realized he kept daggers in various pockets of his outfits, ready to slide out at a moment’s notice. 

Snow kicked up around them, stinging their face and cheeks. The older woman remained still, only her eyes shifting to aim a stare as cold as ice in his direction. Kalea drew her hood tighter around her face, the fur scratching her face with collected frost. 

With a sigh and a nod, the woman turned her attention back to Kalea. “The decision to stay lies with my Thane, but I will take both of you there. I guarantee nothing more.” 

Kalea accepted the woman’s hand when she refused to lower it, and let herself be dragged along. Sebastian trailed behind them, having the sense enough to do so in silence. One-sided conversation accompanied the jaunt, the older woman chattering and asking questions without waiting for answers. Mostly, she wanted to know about Kalea’s powers and what brought them. 

They rounded the lower half of the nearest mountain before discovering a trail marked only by the trees, possibly with a road as well but it became difficult to tell when snow blanketed the ground. It led them up, not as steep as their mountain-climbing but enough to stir the ache in Kalea’s weary legs. She could sleep for days if given the chance. Maybe even without waking up due to noise. 

The lights drew their attention first, and as if energized by a sudden jump in her eagerness, the woman trudged faster until they reached the edge of the cliffside village. “Welcome to Stone-Bear Hold,” she said with a grin. 

Bonfires spread across the village cast a glowing warmth like a spell as they stepped past the guards and inside the tribal space cut into the mountainside. Avvar stopped in their laughter when their small group passed, curiosity chasing them in lingering gazes. Darkness ate the scenery below the suspended huts, but Kalea imagined it as breath-taking as the rest of her surroundings. 

They ventured into a large cave where another hooded woman sat on a throne of furs. She rose and the older woman bowed after releasing Kalea’s hand; Kalea and Sebastian did the same out of respect. 

“What have you brought us, Ninne? Who are these outsiders?” The woman’s voice boomed, aided by the spacious cave and her location at the back. 

“A shaman has found us, my Thane.” 

“Hmph,” the Thane replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She made an imposing figure, more so as her steely gaze landed on first Kalea, then Sebastian. “You wish to meet the augur.” 

Sebastian opened his mouth but Kalea elbowed him hard in the ribs, a grunt escaping instead of words. Kalea stepped forward in his place and offered another bow. “I’ve come in search of information about Andraste. It’s said her tribe once resided here.” 

The Thane shook her head, lips pinching together as her eyes narrowed. “The Avvar own this basin. You won’t find your God here.” 

Kalea’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. The books made a mistake, and now here they stood, without another trail to follow and dangerously low on supplies. Her mind raced with next moves, where they might go instead, how to replenish their stock before undertaking the return trip. She bowed again, uncertain what else to do. “Forgive me then, Thane. I’ve taken up too much of your-”

“What’s an augur?” Sebastian cut off her nervous flustering. When the Thane turned her attention onto him, he kept his gaze steady and unyielding. “Why did you tell her she was here to meet him?” 

“Sebastian, stop,” Kalea hissed. “It’s fine, we’ll figure something else out.” 

Both of them ignored Kalea, assessing each other for an apparent weakness. When the Thane grew satisfied, she gave a single, curt nod. “Our augur speaks to our Gods. He is blessed with the gift, like your shaman. Many come for him. Shamans, to learn.

“Your kind, however.” These words brandished a particularly seething tone, pointed directly at Sebastian. “Your kind come to kill, to sow destruction and impose your way of life onto us. Is that why you’re here, magicless one?” 

Kalea stepped in front of him on instinct, as if the Thane had drawn a blade against him other than the one she wielded with her tongue. “He’s here to help me.”

“The outside world does not worship their shaman. Why then, does this one indenture himself to you?” 

“We’re friends.” When that answer didn’t satisfy the Thane, Kalea added, “He protects me. From those who wish to cage me.” 

The Thane stared at the two of them, Kalea using her body as a wall to separate the two, praying all the while that Sebastian had enough sense in his head not to reach for his weapons. But then an arm fell away, the other raising up to pound on her chest as she offered a small bow. “We honor our shaman, from this tribe or outside it. You both may stay for a week, no longer. Then we will send you off with enough supplies to endure the journey back to your land.” 

“Thank you,” Kalea said as she mimicked the motion, relief washing over her like a tide. 

Ninne showed them to their separate huts overlooking the village. Inside, a fire raged in the center, a fur blanket pile in the corner. Kalea wasted no time stripping out of her soggy clothing and crawling into it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to attempt to make Friday nights my posting nights and actually get this story onto a schedule. 
> 
> As anyone who read the old fic can see, I divided up the Avvar adventure into two parts. And you know what part comes next. ;) And then after is where all the changes Really start to take place. I'm actually going to see about getting some art for the next chapter, so stay tuned. Also if anyone wants to throw their hat into the ring, hit me up on tumblr (under the same name). 
> 
> So the question for this chapter: Do any songs remind you of Sebastian or Kalea or this story? I'm not saying go hunting for them, but if you can think of any off the top of your head ...


	10. Oh No, He's Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still planning on sticking to posting on Fridays, but also I want to get this fic done so I'm going to try to aim for Tuesdays and Fridays? But Fridays are the definite and Tuesdays are the maybes.

The augur refused to see her until the last day of their stay, claiming to need the time in order to prepare. Prepare for what, Kalea didn’t rightfully know, but she accepted this condition with no protest. 

In truth, life at the hold brought a comfort long missed. The Avvar shared everything with one another; chores that kept the hold abuzz with activity, food shared around fires, stories traded with the skald as she sang of legends when the night brought quiet reprieve. It reminded her of home, of her siblings and her father, his eccentric style of storytelling, complete with different voices for each character. Or the rare moments where her mother sang and her father’s eyes filled with such a deep, profound love that spoke to what he saw in her when they first met. 

Sight of Sebastian came only in passing after he tasked himself with impressing the tribe with his archery skills. He hunted with the others, part of his chores, and spent time at the practice range, where he gathered quite the following that swooned and giggled whenever he winked in their direction. 

She wondered how many of them he slept with already. The thought sat with an unwelcome bitterness she found difficult to shake. 

Not that she didn’t have her own set of admirers to choose from, if she wanted (she didn’t). One of the younger Avvar, Helsdim, followed her around like a lost little puppy, assigning himself as her personal guide to the hold. She pegged him as no older than seventeen. He poorly filled the gap left by Sebastian, not that she needed her companion around every minute of the day. But she … missed him? Maybe? The time apart only confused her more, how quickly he fled her side and the not-quite-avoidance he toyed with when she neared. They hadn’t said more than a few words to each other in days. 

When the last day arrived, a small part of her wondered if he would ask to stay behind. 

The door to the augur’s hut was outlined in a flickering bluish-green glow, only noticeable as she neared. Helsdim led the way, glancing back at her with a wide grin every few seconds. “I’ll wait outside for you until you’re done.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Please, don’t. This might take a while.”

“I don’t mind.”

 _But I do_ , she said to herself, biting her tongue to keep quiet. Instead, she redirected him with, “Don’t you need to help everyone prepare for the feast tonight? I wouldn’t want to keep you.” 

The guilt that flickered across his boyish face spoke to the truth in her words. She flashed him a polite smile. “I’ll be fine getting back on my own. And Thane Sun-Hair wanted to speak with me privately after this, so you’d only be waiting around for me anyway.” 

When his shoulders sagged, she knew she had him. Her attention shifted back to the door, cracked enough for her to glimpse the origin of the odd light, candles scattered around the hut and flickering with an unusual fire. 

“Come in, Shaman” a strong voice called. 

The augur stood center of the hut, adorned in heavy furs with a grey mask that covered most of his face. In the center of his forehead, a metal circle reflected the bluish-green tint of the room. Smoke bloomed from the firepit in the center of the room, a more solid blue, that twisted and danced in various shapes that kept him entranced. She shut the door behind her and stood on the opposite side of the firepit. 

“The Gods spoke to your arrival. They trust your intentions.” 

“That’s … good.” How was she supposed to respond? Some of the tribe elders told stories of their Gods, how they resided in all things, and of the big three. Thane Sun-Hair explained how spirits possessed the augur in their training and how that later led to the ability to speak with such spirits. But why any of them had any interest in her, she didn’t know. She wasn’t anyone important. 

The augur nodded, oblivious or ignoring the confusion in her response. “It is good. The God who travels with you speaks on your behalf. He is blessed, your companion, to have such protection, though he does not see it.” 

“Um,” she started, her confusion only growing. Did he mean Sebastian? Sebastian was surely no God of theirs. Or … The memory of the spell that shouldn’t be, the foreign tingling in her hands, was that … one of their Gods? Did something gift her that power, something that followed them? The notion sent a shiver down her back. 

Spirits may be worshiped in Avvar society, but the Chantry preached their danger. Not that Andrastianism was infallible; the Temple of Shartan was proof enough, as was her own Circle-free existence. Still, it was difficult to completely dismiss all her learning in favor of the Avvar way of thinking. Good thing she had her own way to ward against any unwelcome tag-along. 

The augur cocked his head to the side as if listening to an unheard voice. His eyes flickered in her direction. “What you seek, you will not find here.”

“Oh.” She knew that by now, but to hear it said aloud only deepened her disappointment. “Do your Gods, can they point me in a direction? If they know why I’m here, they must know what I’m searching for.” 

The augur swept his hand through the smoke, curling its tendrils around his fingers. “Andraste betrayed our Gods by claiming Korth and the Lady shunned her. And Mafareth was a traitor to our people for his crimes against her.” The augur paused to assure that she followed. When satisfied, he continued on. “Yet his second-in-command stole his body away from his sons to perform the proper funerary rites. Maferath’s augur aided by freezing the body until they found a location the sons would not disturb and the Lady could not ignore.” 

She leaned forward with interest, hanging on every word of this tale. 

“The sons chased them a great distance, but as the two approached what your kind call the Storm Coast, a roar from a high dragon rang out, scaring the sons into fleeing and abandoning their pursuit. On the highest cliff, the augur unfroze Maferath and Havard performed the rites. But instead of birds, the wrath of Andraste swooped down in the form of a dragon and devoured him whole. 

“Beneath his offering, where the ground opens into unending darkness, there you will find the end to your search.”

A lead! And better than she could ask for! When she opened her mouth to thank him, the flames of the blue-green candles shot up in large pillars around the room, silencing her tongue. 

“Darkness descends upon those who close their eyes.” The augur shook his head with a troubled frown. “The tumultuous winds of fate seek you, Hawke. From the dirt of graves, destiny shall build your throne of greatness.” When his words died, so did the candles, each one falling back to the smaller flames of before. 

And then he turned his back on her, attention fixated on some herbs spread out on the table. Not sure what else to do, she staggered out of the hut, making sure to shut the door behind her. His ominous goodbye laid weight to her chest. Did the Gods show him her future? Why this talk of darkness and graves? 

As she walked down to Thane Sun-Hair’s cave, she realized she never told him her last name. 

The Thane waited for her by the opening. “Your companion is inside. He said you would not want him here while you dressed for tonight’s feast.” 

Her dour mood shifted with the sudden scorching across her cheeks. 

When he emerged a short time later, two swipes of crimson paint ran over his left eye and down to the middle of his cheek. The rest of his outfit blended him in with the Avvar, all dark furs and leather with far too much skin showing for the dead of winter. His upper arms glistened with oil, his shaggy hair tamed and his bangs, usually hanging in his face, braided back, parallel to his paint stripes. He looked … _handsome_. 

When he caught her gaze with a wide grin, a stirring sharpened the thrum of her pulse. The blue of his eyes stood out like actual gems with the red as contrast. 

“You …” Her voice squeaked out, barely recognizable, and she paused to clear her throat. “You look … nice.” 

“Only nice? That’s the best I get? Not incredibly sexy or incriminatingly dashing?”

The Thane cleared her throat, arms crossing over her chest with a cold glare. While she let them into the hold, she maintained her chilly demeanor when dealing with Sebastian. “Move along, outsider.” 

With a wink, he sauntered away, an extra swing to his hips; not that she watched him leave. 

Nor did she notice how very close he sat at the feast that evening, his bare knee resting against her and the occasional brush of his arm like electricity across her skin. Thane Sun-Hair had gifted her similar clothing and added several braids to her hair, but with her red paint slashed over the bridge of her nose, running cheek to cheek. “Protection,” the Thane had said, and Kalea wondered if she knew of the augur’s prophecy. “You are a warrior, young shaman, but remember that not all battles are fought to be won.” 

With food piled high across the low table, she stuffed her face until her stomach felt sure to burst. Conversation and laughter flowed like mead, and as dinner settled down, several of the Avvar rose to dance around the fire while the skald played music on her lute. 

Even armed with the knowledge that the feast was held in her honor, she still maintained her outsider status as she watched with envy from the sidelines. Carver always equated her dancing to that of a wild boar’s charge, more likely to lead with her head than her feet. 

Not even alcohol would break her of that lack of grace. She picked at her plate, pretending not to notice the polished quality of Sebastian’s dancing, his arms expertly positioned on one person then passed onto another. That could never be her, with nothing but panic in her veins whenever he neared or at the prospect of so much as considered taking even the slightest dance step. 

But his eyes caught hers several times during each of his dances, and when her frown deepened in reply or she glanced away, he scrunched his face or stuck his tongue out to earn back a grin. It almost appeared as though he meant to come over when Helsdim materialized at her side from thin air, hands twisting over themselves as his eyes refused to meet Kalea’s. 

“Dance? Do you .. dance?” He held out a sweaty hand. 

She gave a compulsory glance before shaking her head. “I think it’s better for everyone’s feet if I don’t.” 

“Oh,” he said, his face falling back into shadow. “I’m sure you’re not that bad.” 

Maybe the alcohol emboldened her, or how Sebastian stopped his glimpses in her direction with Helsdim there, but she rose to her feet at long last, a bit prickly from sitting cross-legged for so long. “You were warned.” 

He led her to the other side of the bonfire, away from where Sebastian danced with yet another new partner. Did every person in the tribe have a turn with him? Conscious of the distance between her and Sebastian, she shifted to face Helsdim. One hand grasped almost painfully tight in his hand, slick with what she hoped was sweat, he kept the other at her waist while she laid her own on his shoulder, mirroring how she’d seen others position themselves. And when the next song started, chaos broke out. 

Or that would best describe her meager attempts at dancing. The balls of her feet mashed atop his boots with every step, and he pretended not to flinch each time. When he tried to spin her, she almost fell into the fire, missing a step when she twirled too fast. They both gave too much attention to their feet after that, which led to bumping into the other dancers who shot them glances mixed with contempt and pity. 

Raucous laughter filled her ears when the song ended, and a tap landed on Helsdim’s shoulder. “The lass is quite solid with her dancing. Mind if I cut in, show her how it’s done?”

Helsdim grumbled a reply as he reluctantly let go of Kalea. A new arm snaked around her waist, pressing her flush against Sebastian. He wore a large, cocky grin, filled with all the confidence she lacked. When his hand clasped hers in midair, he leaned in and murmured, “I couldn’t bear to watch that atrocity any longer.” 

“Yes, well, I’d rather be done with the whole dancing thing, thank you very much. I’m not good at it. Never have been, never will be.” Her heart hammered so violently in her chest that she figured he felt it given how close they stood. The firelight added a softness to his features, one she missed from their nights on the road together. Let them return to how things were and not make it more awkward. 

“It’s all about having the right partner,” he said, the whimsy still in his voice. “Though perhaps we need to start with a different approach. I quite like my toes intact.” 

Her face sparked with the flames of embarrassment. “I didn’t ask to dance with either of you.” 

“And yet here we are.” He pursed his lips, eyes scanning her face before sneaking a glance down. “I have an idea.” 

“I hate it already.” 

With a hearty laugh, he let go of her hand to take ahold of the other side of her waist. Before she could protest, he lifted her slightly and settled the bottom of her boots over his feet. “Hard to step on my toes if you’re already on them,” he said with a wink. When he began to sway them, much slower than the hearty tune called for, she wrapped both arms around his neck to keep steady. 

Her father used to say the same thing when they danced. She mostly forgot her mother’s insistence at learning the finer arts of her lost nobility, and how her father fought back with his loopholes. And while standing on Sebastian’s feet while they moved in small circles reminded of those father-daughter dances and the fondness it bore, the intimacy of this dance developed a different kind of fondness, one she grew reluctant to label. 

“And how do you know how to dance? Or is this another mystery of yours?” 

Another wink skirted his answer, and he took a big step this time, spinning them both around before settling back into their sway. 

The song ended and another began, but he didn’t make an effort to pull away, and neither did she. The background faded the longer he held her, only the tempo of her heartbeat to keep rhythm to their steps. When she licked her lips, suddenly dry from the crackling heat of the bonfire, his eyes flicked down before returning to her gaze. His hand slipped from the curve of her waist to the small of her back as he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against hers. 

His parted lips a breath away from her own, she closed her eyes in anticipation. Air staggered in her lungs while she waited, unsure why the pause. When his other hand left her waist, she dared to reopen her eyes, fearful he might retreat when they were _this_ close …

The words begging him to stay died in the back of her throat as he cupped her cheek and tilted her mouth to meet his. His lips against hers surprised her with the soft, hesitant nature of it when he claimed all confidence in such matters. The hand on her back steadied her as her heart trembled with exhilaration. Softness bloomed into insistence, and the kiss opened to the heat between them. 

The honeyed alcohol on his tongue left her head all sorts of dizzy. Every nerve in her body tingled as though all of her magic swept across her body in an abrupt rush. Her hands wound from around his neck and into his silky hair, threading between her fingers. 

He was kissing her and it was everything and nothing like she pictured it. Sweet Maker, she wanted to stay like this, to feel so wanted and _certain_ , she knew, she knew, there was no coming back from this. 

She lov-

And then she remembered the very public location of this occurrence. The flush of excitement deepened into mortification as she reeled away and shoved Sebastian back. Her first kiss, and all these people witnessed it … Her lips buzzed with loss, and she covered them as if spilling out her innermost thoughts before running to her hut. Shame prickled tears in the corner of her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand once safely inside. 

She half-expected for him to chase after her, to demand answers to the unasked questions between them. She dared not to spare even the slightest glance his way as she fled, and when he didn’t throw open her door, she considered that perhaps he was put-off or confused by her reaction. It made sense, given his nonchalance with such public gestures. 

Did he know that he took her first kiss? Would he care?

What would he think if she told him that she wanted to do it again and again until their lips chapped and their jaws ached? And then to lay with him and simply let their fingers kiss skin, to draw maps with feathery touches and whisper confessions through the darkness? She never felt this way before, the word burning on her tongue to exclaim it, to rush to him and throw her arms around his neck and speak the word until it broke between their lips. 

When the bonfire died down, she snuck over to his hut, her heart like a skittering rabbit in her chest. Ready to put those fluttery feelings he caused into words. Reciting the speech in her head like an audition. 

_It’s only been a few months since we first met, but I’ve come to consider you as a friend. More than that actually, and I think I -well, actually, I know that I ... love you._

In her eagerness, she pushed open the door without knocking, starting into her speech with, “Bash, I …” Her words died down as her brain struggled to process the scene inside. 

Naked bodies writhed together, too many to count without pausing to do so, all gleaming with sweat and oil. No one took any notice of her as she stared, mouth ajar while struggling to rationalize this, meanwhile praying him absent. But that auburn tinted hair in the middle of it, his back to her, bare ass thrusting forward --

She ran for the second time that night, only the hut didn’t seem private enough or far enough away. Her legs carried her out past the Avvar guards parked at the entrance to the woods who exchanged concerned glances at her passing, deep enough into the forest until it swallowed her whole. A mess of sobs escaped her chest as her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground, only the tribe’s Gods to keep her pain company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so consider Sebastian's outfit as Kouga from Inuyasha. I'm not kidding. 
> 
> Obviously, the artwork hasn't worked out yet but maybe one day. I want the kiss or the almost kiss where their foreheads are resting against one another. /swoon/ That one's been on my art list for awhile, since the last version. 
> 
> Prophecy, anyone? I'm curious to hear your predictions about said prophecy. Also said prophecy might be a tad bit Witcher influenced because I am obsessed with the show. 
> 
> They kissed! Honestly, ten chapters is a long time to hold off on that. I don't know how real slow burn writers do it. But! We are also over halfway done! I'm excited.


	11. I Grossly Misread The Situation

“Where are we heading, anyway?”

Kalea near-flinched at the sudden sound of Sebastian’s voice, absent since their departure from Stone-Bear Hold that morning. Her eyes fixated on the map unfolded across her legs as she fought the urge to glance up and meet his gaze. The nightly campfire made for poor reading while plotting out their course over the next two months. With spring’s arrival in the next four weeks, she hoped the change of season would shave some time off the return trip over the mountains. 

“The Storm Coast,” she said, careful to keep her tone neutral and disinterested. Since last night, she didn’t quite know how to handle the mess she created. The images of him, the  _ sounds  _ she heard inside that hut - the memories resurfaced in alternate to the kiss, only adding to the jumbled emotions twisted around her heart. 

A fresh coat of red paint swiped over her nose that morning in preparation to face this dilemma, but it did nothing to protect her aching heart. 

His eyes on her burned like the sun in hotter weather, and the longer she sat there pretending her attention remained on the page, the more flustered she became until she refolded the map and snapped the book closed. “I’m heading to bed.” And in a gesture that only served to remind her of how she ran away from him, she hurried into the safety of her tent. 

Her pulse hammered too hard for sleep as she listened for movement outside once she laid down. But the sigh following her departure arrived loud and clear, shortly accompanied by some shuffling and then the sound of his own return to the tent. In the dark, her index finger traced her lips and she imagined the touch belonged to him. 

The next day passed much the same, tension hard-strung between the two of them as they hiked the path, only birds hardy enough to survive the winter filling in the gap of silence with song. So when the crunch of boots paused behind her, she heeded the call to turn around and face him for the first time in two days. 

“How did I manage to piss you off this time? Why the silent treatment?” He crossed his arms over his chest, face half-hidden into his hood. With each release of breath, a cloud filtered out from between his lips to linger like the heaviness of words unsaid. 

Her hand found the strings for her pack and she dug her mitten-covered fingers beneath them. Her gaze moved from his face down to his feet, where it made a home on his boots. Shame colored her cheeks, her own fallacies creating this miscommunication between them. She always knew who he was, he never lied about that. And yet finding him in that … situation, her heart bled bitter betrayal. 

“It’s not … I’m not angry with you. I’m … it’s complicated.” With her other hand, she made a clumsy attempt to tuck some loose hair behind her ear. The mitten made it too difficult to actually stay and the hair quickly blew right back into her face.  _ Complicated  _ was a terrific yet underwhelming descriptor for the turmoil inside her head. She chewed her lip while avoiding looking at him directly. “Why did you kiss me?” 

Did she honestly ask that out loud? But it was a question that deserved an answer, unless she planned to torment herself with the possibilities forever. 

The birds broke off their song if only to lengthen the absence of his reply. “I thought -” He stopped, frowned, then licked his lips. “Nevermind,” he breathed out. “It was a stupid impulse.” 

“Oh.” A stupid impulse, that was all she amounted to for him. They started walking again, or moreso she did, a few light steps forward before gradually shifting into stomps. As she dwelled on his words -  _ impulse, really, so natural for him, how grand _ \- her hands shoved inside her pockets curled into fists. The wind greeted her building anger like a nonverbal retort to his statement, perhaps beckoned by the strong surge of power in her veins. 

She spun around and this time didn’t shy her gaze away from his face, his eyes wide with surprise at the sudden halt. “Am I some kind of a joke to you? I get that you’re not into me, but do you enjoy making me feel like a bloody idiot this much?”

“What?” His bewildered stare only stoked her anger, like he couldn’t possibly fathom why she might react like this. The wind picked up snow off branches of nearby trees and pelted the two of them with it. “But … you didn’t even like it. You ran off and I - I don’t understand what’s happening right now.” 

“Of course I liked it!” Her reply came out as a yell, and her hands, dug out from her pockets, ended up in the air with exasperation. “I only left because I don’t enjoy an audience, which you obviously don’t seem to have a problem with, considering what you got up to afterward.” 

His brief flicker of surprise mirrored her own. She hadn’t meant to admit that, to say any of this. Her arms ended up crossed over her chest, the dying winds ruffling loose strands of hair. 

He recovered fast, hitting her with, “Pardon me for offending your modesty. I suppose I forgot you were such a demure wee lassie beneath your feigned adulthood.” 

“Gah!” She started to stomp away again as the wind picked up where it left off. She made it only a few feet before spinning around again. “Why are you even here, Bash? I mean, I know why  _ I’m  _ willing to put up with you for longer than a night, Maker help me, but -” 

She almost said it, the words she had so desperately wanted to tell him that night. The unfinished end of her sentence fell between them in frosty clouds panted into the cold. Thank goodness the weather stole all the color from her face so that she didn’t resume the normal tinge of red across both cheeks he usually brought on. 

He pounced at the opening. “What does that mean, you know why  _ you  _ are?” 

When she returned to the path, this time with lighter, more skittish steps in a desperate attempt to flee this conversation, he caught up with ease and grabbed her elbow to whirl her around. Those impossibly blue eyes scanned her face as they both stood there, neither saying anything - him waiting for her, her waiting for the moment to pass. Her heartbeat thundered like drums in her chest, as if to break away and leave her to deal with this disaster she initiated all on her own. 

But it wasn’t so much her heart that escaped but her brain, because she blurted out, “I love you.” 

_ Dammit _ . More words she hadn’t meant to say, especially not those, not when he was so apt to toss aside any affection from her in favor of others. 

His touch fell away, his arm returning to hang at his side. To his effort, he recovered from the shock fairly quick, his expression settling into stone. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t love me.” 

“Yes, I do,” she said, only because with it out in the open, the very least he could do was believe her. 

“ _ No _ , you don’t.” 

His insistence to the contrary rekindled some of the dormant anger from their argument. This was stupid, she wasn’t asking for him to reciprocate. “ _ Yes _ , I do.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, lassie.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but they shared equally in their stubbornness. Simply going back and forth on  _ yes  _ and  _ no  _ won no arguments, her father taught that much whenever she and the twins got into a spat. She hesitated, building her defense before moving on. 

“I love my family,” she started, licking her lips in a poor attempt at curing the lump in her throat. “It’s like … it’s like this warm blanket that wraps around my heart whenever I think of them.”

“I don’t see-”

“And when I think of you, it’s sort of like that, but … different. The edges of it are sharper. The way I think about you, those aren’t family thoughts. They’re not even friend thoughts. I  _ know  _ exactly what I feel, Bash.

“I was going to tell you … that night. But then I saw …” The tears she left behind in the woods stung the corners of her eyes. If she wiped them away, drawing his attention toward it, he’d realize how badly seeing him like that hurt her, even with him acting this bullheaded. She didn’t want that, to guilt him over her attachment. “I don’t expect you to feel anything back, I think you’ve made your feelings quite clear by now. But I … I thought you should know.” Her mittens made a better attempt at tucking her hair behind both ears and her gaze landed on his chest. “You told me that you liked feeling wanted.”

“You get your first kiss and now you’re in love? Give me a break, Pidge.” The words were out as soon as she finished, though given the way he refused to meet her eyes, she doubted some of the sincerity in his biting retort. 

The thought occurred that maybe this insistence for him to believe was all for naught, that he would break her if only to prove his point. Two could play at that game, however. “Well, since you’re so  _ obviously  _ much wiser and schooled in  _ all  _ matters of the heart, go ahead and tell me what love is. You know me, always eager to learn.” She tilted her head to the side, a forced cocky grin on her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to the side. 

“Fine,” he huffed, copying her stance. “You want to know what love is? That love you feel for your family? It’s purely obligation, instilled in you since birth. It’s submitting to all the ways they guilt you into accepting a life you never wanted for yourself. You give and you give until you have nothing left, and even then they break you into pieces to make certain. You don’t love your family; you simply don’t know any better.

“And that romance nonsense? It’s how people dress up their dedication to hating each other so much, they would rather drive each other into misery than risk that person’s happiness. It’s soured lust used to sell fairytales. It’s not real, none of it.” 

“Wo-ow,” she drew out, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You know what? This all makes sense now.” Her head bobbed with several small nods as she soaked in his embittered rant. Anyone that spent some amount of time with him realized his family had him in a bad way, but the extent of it left her near flabbergasted. “Look, I’m sorry about whatever happened to you to turn you into …  _ this _ ,” she gestured to all of him, “but I think I might actually know more than  _ you  _ when it comes to this subject matter.” 

Frustration wrinkled his brow as he reached out and grabbed both her shoulders. “You don’t love me.” He paused between each word, punctuating each into its own sentence to drill into her head. She merely grinned up at him, pleased with herself at calling his bluff. “I kissed you, and I’m sorry that confused you. But trust me on this, Pidge, I know more than you.”

“You know a lot about  _ pretending  _ to be a heartless bastard, I’ll give you that much.” 

The more pinched his brows drew together, the wider her smirk grew. Now it was him who let go and stomped away, only to turn back on her. “How’s this for heartless? I’m the first friend you’ve ever had in your life. Of course you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you love me, I’m the only person who’s given you the time of day outside of your family.”

They both stood there, his words hitting her like a direct punch to the gut. Maybe he regretted it; he opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish come up for air, but no sound followed. Instead, she shoved past him in the hopes he wouldn’t catch the fresh glistening of tears spilling down her cheeks. 

“Some friend, huh?” Her words, though murmured, hit their target. She was halfway down the path before the sound of his boots rejoined the noise of the mountains. She buried her face into the collar of her jacket as the cold became brittle with frost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the joys of first love. 
> 
> Thanks to my love, ladylike-foxes, RPing with me and making this chapter one of my favorites. 
> 
> The real question for this chapter is how can they ever recover.


	12. No One Knows What It's Like To Be The Sad Man

Days passed in a haze of snow flurries kicked up by Kalea’s emotional turmoil and lack of control. As their trek back toward Honnleath stretched into weeks, the bitterness of winter softened its edges to allow for glimpses of spring to break through the snow-laden ground. Her anger toward Sebastian softened too if only due to proximity, or maybe her heart also grew tired of the frost that encased it.

Still, by the time they reached the village that served as their gateway back into civilization, enough brittle tension lingered between them for him to disappear on a supply run into town, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the maps inside her journal. 

It was her journal, if she spoke honestly about it. Though Brother Genetivi laid the groundwork for her search, she came to regard it as her own, thinking of it fondly as another companion on this venture. Although she left out some details of her more personal experiences, she wrote and read over it so much that it hardly left her hand when camped for the night. Details of her own adventure, her first adventure, filled its pages: a story that belonged to her when she often felt as though nothing did.

The augur’s prophecy took up its own page, in case she decided to rip it out and keep it for herself. Spelled out in dark ink, the words haunted her in dim firelight as she struggled to decode their meaning. _Darkness descends upon those who close their eyes. The tumultuous winds of fate seek you, Hawke. From the dirt of graves, destiny shall build your throne of greatness._

 _Fate_. _Destiny_. As if she was someone actually important and not some backwater apostate who, at the end of this, would return to her boring, simple life while attempting to maintain her freedom from the Circle. 

But the closer they approached what the Avaar Gods promised as the end to her search, the more she considered a different kind of freedom, to stay out on the road and travel, see all the places she only dreamed of before. With her father better, the family wouldn’t need her around. Beth and Carver could join her when old enough. They could set sail across the open sea, check out the Free Marches and Rivain and maybe even Tevinter, where she and Beth wouldn’t have to hide their magic. 

Too caught up in her daydream of the Hawke siblings as a band of pirates, she missed the subtle sounds of Sebastian’s return until a scroll was shoved into her field of vision, causing her to startle. “Here,” he murmured, towering over her while his free hand fidgeted with the inside of his cloak pocket. When she accepted it, he fell back into the wide berth they gave each other since the fight, halfway across to the other side of the campfire. 

She opened her mouth to ask what it was, but the Hawke family crest caught a flicker of the firelight, stamped in red wax to seal the letter shut. “Why do you have this?” 

“The courier in town recognized me, asked that I deliver it.” His gaze fell to the empty space between them, only to return to her face. “It’s from your family, right?” 

“What’s it matter to you?” 

He settled cross-legged on the ground, digging around in his pack to pull out a fresh bottle of wine. “I hope it’s good news.” 

“Just an obligatory, ‘we love you’, I’m sure.” The words left her mouth hot and stinging, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say he flinched when they struck. Despite all the progress they made after that fight, she couldn’t resist the jab, no matter that it hurt them both. Worth it to see him turn away with shame casting long shadows across his face, even when the motion twanged with a subtle sadness. 

When she opened the letter, she found that her bitter retort wasn’t too far from the truth. Her mother’s handwriting stared up at her in dark slashes across the parchment. 

“My Dearest Daughter,” the letter began. Her mother only referred to her this way in their more volatile fights when attempting to provoke ire or exercise her manipulations on how she gave up everything for this family. Seeing it written out, Kalea nearly flinched, the ice-cold tone of her mother’s script clear as if spoken aloud. 

“It was so lovely to hear from you.” A backhanded referral on how Kalea’s letter arrived solely addressed to her father. “Your father’s health fails him more with each passing day, and we fear he won’t survive the next winter.” Was this true, or her mother’s way of guilting her into coming home? “Come home, Lea.” _Lea_. She loathed that nickname, and her mother knew it, too. “No cure is more important than the time you’re missing with your father.” Now this was definitely a manipulation, which cast even more doubt on the previous sentiment.

“We all miss you. Sincerely, Your Loving Mother.”

The trick of dealing with her mother came with how to unearth the real meaning behind each word. Always sweet enough on the surface, sure, but anyone who knew Leandra Hawke realized she sunk venom into each line, even while brandishing a smile. A delightful leftover from her time as nobility. 

Despite the blatant manipulation, a knot formed in Kalea’s throat as she considered her father and any truth the letter might hold to his condition. What if finding the Ashes wasn’t enough and something happened before her return? Was her mother actually right? Should she give this up and go home? 

_No_. The letter crumpled in her hand and she hurled it into the fire, eager to rid herself of the self-doubt it inflicted. Another victory for her mother. 

Sebastian hesitated before scooting to sit beside her. After moving the journal aside, her knees came up as she hugged them to her chest, her forehead resting against her crossed arms. Despite her daydreams, even after her father recovered, she’d stay there because it was what she did. She had a responsibility to them, even if she didn’t fully understand it herself, and leaving like this? It could never happen again. 

“Here,” Sebastian said for the second time that night, and she poked her head up to see him tilting his open bottle of wine in her direction. She took it without thanks, then tossed back a large mouthful, which left her coughing and sputtering as he tried his best not to laugh. “Wine is best enjoyed slowly.” He accepted the bottle back while badly fighting off a smile, eyes glinting with warmth and -

Maker, she wanted to kiss him again, partly because the taste lingering on her tongue would also be on his and when his eyes sparkled like that, a tightness formed in her chest that reminded her of all the ways she was so absolutely, even if naively, in love with him. But also, when would she have another chance? After they found the Ashes, he had no more reason to stay. 

But she didn’t kiss him, instead licking her lips before shifting her focus to the crackling fire. “I know what you think of my family, but … we have our problems, too. It’s not perfect.” 

The bottle brushed against his lips as he took a sip, a pause as he figured out how to respond while his teasing died down. She pretended not to notice as her attention divided between the campfire and the heat radiating from where he sat. His fingers drummed along the neck of the bottle as it returned to his lap, locked in between his legs. 

He sighed, his shoulders sagging with the exhale, before licking his lips and opening his mouth. “I …” The sentence died away, and he cleared his throat to start anew. “My _seanair_ and I were close back when I was a wee laddie.” Sebastian reached up, threading his hair through his fingers to push it back, only for it to fall right into his face again. With another sigh, he moved the bottle between them and copied her pose, digging his chin atop his crossed arms. “He was kind, stern but fair. And I … I loved him.” 

Kalea considered leaning against his shoulder or at least placing a hand there. A sadness undercut the thickness of his brogue. When he didn’t continue on, she opened her mouth to dredge up some words of comfort, but then his eyes caught hers as his head swiveled to face her. “What I said to you before, it was cruel, and I shouldn’t have said it.” 

“Then why did you?” A candid question, born from exhaustion over fighting herself to not forgive him. She wanted, no, deserved to know, the etch of his words carved into her heart like a dull sting. 

His cheeks darkened to the shade of wine in the bottle and his glance stole away to the empty woods surrounding them. “I mean, I -” The end of his sentence fell, and his body leaned away from her. “Does it really matter why?” Shadows flickered across his face as his teeth clenched, something raw and sharp and painful. 

This time, she didn’t hesitate to reach out and brush her hand down his back, ignoring the jerk of surprise as they connected. “No,” she said, her voice soft as if to not scare him away. “I guess it doesn’t.” 

He shifted in his seat, surprising her when his head came to rest on her shoulder. “It does matter, but I ...,” Keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper, his hands flexing in his lap, a lengthy silence swallowed the end of his thoughts. When she debated on whether or not he passed out against her, he wiggled a bit, sliding further into her side. “My _bràithrean_ and I used to be inseparable, once. It feels like so long ago now. ” 

His fingers toyed with the bottle, one tracing the rim slowly as if considering another drink. But he abstained. Her hand settled around his shoulders, her thumb tracing circles into his shirt. 

“We bonded over this … _need,_ to not be who our parents wanted us to be. An escape from our grand _destiny_.”

At the word destiny, her heart produced a single loud thump in her chest. Destiny, hers and Sebastian’s. His running from it, her lack of interest in it. Why did destiny take such an interest in the two of them?

“But they both accepted it eventually, and I …” His hands clenched into fists on his lap, and though she glanced down to where his head lay, his face remained hidden. “I’ll have to give up everything.” The words, dragged out before, now tumbled out of his mouth in a hurried mess. “If I give in, let my parents shove me away to where I’ll no longer be their problem, I have to forfeit everything that makes me _me_.” 

Words die on her tongue, or maybe she never had anything to say, because how exactly did she respond to that? A particularly loud snap of kindling filled in the gap in conversation, and the only thing she thought to do was lay her cheek against his head. “This is why you’re here, isn’t it? In Ferelden?” 

“Aye.”

She paused a beat before responding with, “Lucky for me then. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have lasted that long out here by myself.” 

A joyless chuckle followed. “You truly are … some kind of magic, Pidge.” His head rose off her shoulder, but his face lingered close. One of his hands traced along the edge of her jaw until it cupped the back of her heart. 

She licked her lips, suddenly aware of the dryness in the air. Her thoughts screamed out a chorus of approval as he leaned in, but her impatience got the better of her and she shot forward at the last second to close the gap. 

He steadied himself with one hand on the ground behind her, half his weight pressed against her arm which kept her upright and prevented her from swooning into the headrush that accompanied kissing him. Maker, his lips were so soft, so gentle but firm against hers which were surely chapped from the cold. She couldn’t help but smile into it, her heart beating out frantic rhythms in her chest. 

“What,” he murmured, his mouth still against hers.

She let out a giggle, trying hard not to duck her face away. “I just …” Another kiss, this one short. “I really like kissing you.” 

A smile grew in response, and he let out a small laugh before scattering pecks across her face. The wine bottle in his lap disappeared off to the side and he coaxed her forward, into his lap with their mouths refusing to part. Her arms wound around his neck, elbows settling on either side. 

With the change in position, the kisses bloomed deeper. His tongue prodded between her lips, prying them apart, and in her eagerness, she surged forward. Her teeth clanked against his, and if not for his hands bracing her lower back, she would’ve shot away out of embarrassment. As it were, she jerked back, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she confessed, her gaze landing on his collarbone which poked through his rumpled shirt as she avoided any looks of displeasure. 

But his laugh echoed through the camp and he placed a hand on her elbow to guide her back to that new position. “It happens,” he grinned. “This time, don’t kiss with your teeth.” 

She only nodded, shame robbing her of a voice. But when his lips returned to hers, she had a new hyperawareness of her teeth in placement to his. He had no problems using his correctly, sucking her bottom lip between them and delivering a small series of nips until it tingled. 

When his mouth left hers, it traveled down her exposed neck, kissing and biting as whimpers left her throat, like following a path he knew well. “Bash,” she breathed out, her hands threading through his hair as his kisses grew more fervent. 

When his cold fingers skimmed under her shirt, she jerked back, as if the cold sensation violently threw her back into awareness. “Wait, Bash, wait -” Firm hands braced against his shoulders as she held him back. She wasn’t ready, and something about him felt … off, she didn’t know how else to put it. Like he was distracted. 

He jumped up before she had a chance to stop him, half-falling off his lap. Scooping down to grab his wine bottle, he was halfway across the campsite before he muttered a hurried, “Sorry,” purposefully avoiding her gaze.

She recovered quickly, scrambling to her feet and reaching out toward him, but he yanked his arm out of her grasp like a reflex. That made her pause, leaning to the side to try and catch a glimpse of his face. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean stop, just -”

“I only need to clear my head,” he cut off and started his descent into the black forest. 

She didn’t do anything wrong, she knew. His actions worried her, and despite every inner protest to follow him and help, she remained by the fire. What else to do than wait for his return? The possibility occurred to her that if she didn’t sleep with him, he’d find someone who would, but he returned from that, he always did. Better she stayed up and made certain he came back than lose him out in the cold, dark forest late at night. 

Memories of the Wilds resurfaced, him staggering back to camp, bleeding. She bit into her bottom lip with worry and ducked her head into her hands as she fought to abate those more gruesome thoughts.

She nodded off several times, only to jerk back awake at the slightest sound. Around the fifth time it happened, a tall shadow emerged from the pre-dawn lit forest, Sebastian staggering back towards the light. On her feet in a flash, she cut off his path, though avoided touching him, despite how she longed to throw her arms around him. 

“Why are ya still awake?” His accent fought with his slurring for dominance, and she noticed the bottle he returned holding wasn’t the same as the one he left with. “It’s late.” 

“I worried,” she confessed, and unsure what else to do with her hands, she tucked nonexistent loose hair behind her ears. “The way you left, I thought …”

“Ya didn’t do no wrong, Pidge.” 

“I know that.” Her arms crossed over her chest as she turned inward, a light breeze bringing in a winter chill. 

“And what if I nae came back?” Despite the obvious goading, no good humor inflected in his tone. 

She shrugged. “Then I would’ve waited until you did.” Simple as that. Would she chase him down in the dark? She considered that option, certainly, but he wanted time alone to do whatever, and she respected that boundary. But that logic refused to stop her caring about his safety. 

Arms dragged her forward into a tight embrace. He nuzzled his face into her neck, his arms locked across her lower back as he sagged into her. After the initial surprise wore off, she awkwardly unfolded her arms and wrapped them around him, then patted his back a few times. They lingered in each other’s arms until the sun took back control of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said Fridays but messed myself up by posting a chapter on Tuesday, so from now on, Fridays only. We're gonna get through this, you and me. 
> 
> Vocab time!  
> seanair - grandfather  
> bràithrean - brothers
> 
> Exploring pre-Chantry Sebastian is a delight, lemme tell you. I don't have any questions to leave you with, just a Happy Valentine's Day.


	13. It's Free Real Estate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A new chapter? After so long? And here you probably thought I was just gonna rename the chapter titles and be done with it. 
> 
> Well, despite the very unserious chapter titles, I can assure you, I still take this rewrite very seriously. I just super struggled on this chapter (and probably the next). But my plan is to get this finished before 2021, so fingers crossed these next chapters come quicker. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments I received on this in the meantime and in the series in general. It warms my heart ❤️
> 
> Special thanks to Kynlei, Goddesstiera, and Happywitch416. Y'all my MVPs.

The Storm Coast lived up to its name. 

Tucked safely away inside the alcove of a seaside cave, Kalea watched the scene outside continue on -- ghastly winds howled as sheets of rain slanted nearly horizontal and furious waves waged war against the shoreline. The ends of her hair dripped down her face and back while her arms clutched so tight around her midsection that half-moons imprinted deep into her skin, all she could do to avoid trembling from the cold. She used her magic to shield them through this, but it left her depleted and tired, ready to shed her wet clothes and lay down for a nap. 

Nothing escaped the water, save the journal, which she wrapped and buried in the center of her pack. The unpleasantness of traveling like this, never truly dry, left her cautious to bring it out – this cave they stumbled upon provided the first gleam of hope for a dry night’s sleep in at least a week.

Kalea’s eyes flickered over her shoulder toward the dark of the cave where Sebastian explored. Not the only hope she carried for the night, if she managed to unearth her courage from where it burrowed this last month, since he kissed her then walked off outside of Honnleath. 

Her tongue wet the corners of her mouth to remember it, the bitter taste of wine sweetened only by the lips it belonged to, a memory replayed far too often. 

“All good,” Sebastian’s voice echoed out from the shadows before he stepped into the grey light cast from the cave mouth. “Whatever used to live here is long gone by now, so we should be safe for the night. I already found a good spot for the camp.” 

Her jaw clenched so hard that her teeth might shatter as she attempted to keep them from clacking together. “That means someone still has to go back out there and find us some food.” The storms scared off the smaller wildlife and they ran low on food even before their arrival to the shoreline. She needed something in her stomach if she wanted her energy to return. Hunger was a flavor she knew well, but it didn’t typically accompany heavy usage of her magic.

Unfortunately, Sebastian wasn’t inclined to agree. “What’s one night without a full meal? We have a few jerky pieces left; we can finish them off and worry about it tomorrow.” 

Their bickering increased when the rain began, both of them irritable from the miserable conditions. It’d be easy to open her mouth and berate him for whining about not being dry enough while her magic extended to them both -- the least he could do was hunt something down -- but not tonight. She didn’t have it in her to spark that particular fight. “Fine,” she said dismissively, and wandered into the bowels of the cave. 

Camp glowed warm in a far corner of the cave, the torch she lit for him used to ignite its centerpiece. Where he found the other wood, especially dry, made her wonder exactly what used to live there, but her father always said not to question small blessings. All too quickly, she plopped down close to the flames, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh. The heat felt so good after such a long absence, and she released her death grip on her arms to hold out her palms, flexing her fingers as the fire sent a delicious shiver up her back. 

Sebastian maintained his distance by picking a spot across the fire to sit down, his back against the wall. His cloak hung over a rock, as did most of the damp things from his pack. Bastard took his time before coming back to give her the all clear, but the irritation quickly died as she caught a glimpse of the orange glow reflecting in his eyes. He did that often, watching her as if she was a particularly frustrating lock to pick, a newfound preference for either staying quiet or picking fights, but nothing in between. 

Her stomach rumbled right as she opened her mouth to break the silence. Without hesitation, Sebastian grabbed one of the smaller bags around him and tossed it at her. "Eat." 

Her fingers untied the bag to find the last of their rabbit jerky inside, only a few large pieces and a bunch of crumbs. She took one of the pieces and shoved it wholly into her mouth, chewing a few times before realizing that Sebastian didn’t snag himself some. "What about you?" 

"Don't worry about me." 

She paused a moment longer before inhaling the contents of the bag, sucking the salt off her fingers when she finished. Maker, not even that little bit helped, her hunger only more apparent than before. To make matters worse, her shivering began anew, even despite the fire. "I'm cold," she said, half in hopes that he might wrap her up in his arms. 

But her cry only met with a grunt as his gaze traveled to some far point beyond her. "You should lay out your stuff and give it a chance to dry." 

Her lips quickly pinched together as a huff blew out her nose, annoyed that the scenarios in her head refused to match up to reality. Soggy clothes clung to her, worsening her shakes, and as she sluggishly rose to her feet, an idea that might solve both of her problems took hold. She began to strip. 

Sebastian responded immediately, his head swiveling to the side where his gaze stayed far away from her. His hand rose to cut off his line of sight from her direction. “Andraste’s tits, Pigeon, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Drying my clothes,” she said with a shrug, but unable to keep a devious grin away. Her shirt went up over her head, and now clad only in her chest band and underwear, she kneeled to spread out the clothes she wore across the ground. “You’re the one who suggested it.”

“I didn’t mean like this,” he muttered, still refusing to look at her. 

The items from her pack ended up scattered around her as she tended to them with the same treatment. Only the journal remained dry, and with her side of the camp now covered in shirts and pants and cloaks and blankets, she walked around to stand right in front of Sebastian. Goosebumps rippled across her skin, even moreso when he glanced up at her with his cheeks darkened. She plopped down, all but leaning on him despite his own damp clothes, her book next to her on the ground. “I’m still cold.” 

Up close, she noted how his hair began to peel away from where it plastered against his burning cheeks and curved with his jaw, the ends frizzing as it dried. Some beads of water still dripped from the ends of his hair to run down his neck. His once white shirt, discolored from the dirt and rain, clung to him with very thorough outlines, the strings near the collar untied. And those eyes lit only by the light of the fire, like the sunrise over a troubled ocean, blinking down at her. The slow swallow that shifted the muscles of his throat revealed some of his trepidation at having her so close. 

Her gaze flickered to his lips the same time his tongue darted out to wet them. Suddenly, the chill in the air disappeared, her body temperature rising to an almost feverish level. Her hand slid to the back of his neck to bring him in, determined to get a kiss, when he yelped in surprise and reeled away. 

“What the fuck, Kalea!” Menace leaked into his shout, his sweet tone dipping low into a growl. Gingerly, he rubbed at where she touched him, wincing at the contact. When his hand fell away, she spotted the dark marks on his skin, the size of her fingertips. 

Lightning continued to crackle under her skin, the hairs on her arm at attention. She hadn’t meant to do that, didn’t even notice the build-up. The power chipped away at her remaining energy, near swooning as it drained her reserves until she managed to coax it back under control. 

“I don’t know why that happened,” she murmured, flexing her fingers as she stared down at them. When she glanced up, embarrassment ran red across her face. “You know I didn’t mean to, right? You know that?” 

“Aye, well.” The hand was back at his neck, rubbing at the sore spots. “It was for the best anyway.” 

“What does that mean?” Her good mood evaporated. Was this tied in to whatever drove that wedge between them since Honnleath? 

His hand waved in the air, though his eyes refused to meet hers. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Yes, it does, or you wouldn’t have said it.” And it was back to arguing, despite her exhaustion, despite her disinterest in another in a long line of fights. They knew no other way to communicate. “Why can’t you ever just be honest with me?” 

“It’s not - I …” His mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water, his words failing to form complete sentences. But then his lips snapped closed, a hard expression stealing away his vexation. When he moved, it was toward his bow and quiver, propped up against one of the rocks. “Come here,” he demanded. 

“What -”

“Something’s coming,” he cut in. “Something big.” As if in response, the pebbles at her feet began to tremble -- a rattle, a brief pause, then another rattle. Like footsteps. 

She slid to his side where he handed her another of his daggers, hers lost to her spread-out belongings on the ground. Dammit all, her magic hadn't yet a chance to replenish, her energy still fluctuating in a downward trend. "I thought you checked the cave." 

“Ah, well … I never explicitly stated that,” Sebastian responded, looking all of a sudden sheepish, his stare regarding the cave’s opening. “I said nothing was here, which I fully meant at the moment I said it.” 

Her fingers tightened around the handle of the dagger, and she had half a mind to stab him with it for his incompetence. 

“Idiot. Asshole. No-good, lousy --” 

And then her insults cut short as a giant, dragging the fresh carcass of a great bear with one hand, came around the corner. The three of them exchanged startled glances -- it to them, them to each other, them back to it. It clearly hadn’t expected guests, and certainly not ones who made themselves so at home. The creature towered over them, its head near brushing the top of the cave. One shining eye glared at them, a curling snarl on its lips revealing rows of sharp teeth. The left tusk looked jagged and broken, a remnant from an old battle, one of many judging from the pale marks dotting its grey flesh.

The bear dropped from its hand with a loud thud that reverberated through the cave, and it gave a loud bellow that jarred Kalea and Sebastian into action, which for her meant running as far out of its reach as possible. Sebastian fired a few shots but the giant seemed otherwise unaffected from where they punched into its skin. 

He wouldn’t win this alone, and with all their stuff spread over the ground, running away and back out into the storm wasn’t an option. That meant magic, but it had to count with her so depleted. She hung back at first, biding her time, studying Sebastian’s attacks to find an area where the giant weakened. Only attacks around the upper body seemed to have any effect, even if only enraging the creature. Her hands grew warm as a fireball formed between her palms, weak and flickering but definitely there and still capable of inflicting pain. She lobbed it up, toward the creature’s face. 

It cried out in pain, now blinded, but charged toward where it last saw her, swinging its arms wildly. Time slowed down as she dodged the first swing, but then the second caught her by surprise. Her body lifted into the air as if suddenly weightless --

Her name, shouted --

Agony --

And then, nothing. 


	14. But Did You Die?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gripped me in a way I haven't been gripped in a long time. So much so that I attempted art.

#  _She dreams._

_The room smells of orange and clove as gentle sunlight filters through the closed white flower-embroidered curtains. Kalea sits at a kitchen table in her father’s hand-me-down shirt and pants, struggling to recall this familiar place -- the one bedroom apartment, right outside of Wichford. They slept above a stable, and when Carver got himself into a huff, he’d go pout in one of the empty stalls. Kalea smiles to herself, remembering how much he hated sharing a bed with her and Bethany, but at least they had a room._

_As if on cue, a hum floats in with the breeze through an open window, one of Bethany’s made-up tunes. She always hums to herself whenever she’s happy, and Kalea finds herself tipping back her chair to catch a glimpse of her sister outside the window. If their mother was there, she’d reprimand Kalea -- All feet on the floor, including yours, Lea._

_But no Bethany in sight._

_A knock comes from the front door._

_When she stands to answer it, her back momentarily sends a shooting pain down her spine. “Fuck,” she curses under her breath, bending and laying a hand at the base. It passes quickly, but before she can wonder about it, the knock comes again, a little more insistent. Bethany’s humming stops._

_Kalea straightens up, and makes her way over to the door. For some reason, her heart hammers inside of her chest as she stands in front of it. The door knob is cool to the touch, and she eases the door back only enough to peek outside._

_Her father grins. “I thought that was you, Pup,” he says, and when she throws the door open, he sweeps her into a big, warm hug._

_“I missed you,” she cries, her cheeks already damp. The scent of rosewood wafts through the fabric of his shirt as she buries her face into his chest._

_He plants a kiss on her crown, and they linger there by the now open door. Bethany’s humming resumes, a little lighter this time. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, patting her back with one hand._

_Her back pangs again, and the hug breaks as she gives a hardened grunt. Her father keeps his hands on her shoulders. “Are you hurt? What happened?” Worry knits his brow, and she lifts a hand to rub her thumb between them, an old joke. But that does nothing to belay his concern._

_“I’m fine,” she says, but the words taste artificial, and she realizes that she doesn’t remember falling asleep, can’t recall anything other than the rain plastering her clothes against her skin, each gust of wind eliciting shivers that she fails to hide._

_But now she is home and Papa looks healthy, his cheeks rosy beneath his beard, eyes bright and trained on her, if not a bit narrowed in his skepticism. Then he sighs and his smile returns in feigned exasperation. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t tell me even if you weren’t. You’re as stubborn as I am when it comes down to it. Your mother would agree.”_

_He lets go of her to stroll around the room, peering out the windows, picking up a wooden spoon laying out on the counter and inspecting it. She expects him to scold her for the lack of contact since she left, or about how she’s worrying her mother, but instead he sighs again and sets the spoon back down. “I think I loved this little apartment the best. It wasn’t much room, and more expensive than we could afford, but the view was one of my favorites, and you kids were happy with the space.”_

_She returns to her seat at the table, and after a few seconds he joins her, taking his usual spot to her right. Memory floods back on why they left -- her rushing home with blood on her hands, her mother bringing her upstairs and scrubbing her skin so hard that her palms mimicked the crimson color while her father packed up the twins and a few of their belongings. Kalea crying over and over that it was an accident, she didn’t mean to._

_Her father must sense where her mind heads, because he places a hand over hers. “It wasn’t your fault. That man attacked you, and you defended yourself the only way you knew how. No one blamed you.”_

_“Mother did,” she says before she can stop herself. Her head shakes as if trying to rid herself of the mental image of her mother’s scowl and hard eyes as they took to the road as the sun set, the way she refused to glance at Kalea as she tugged her along._

_“Your mother …” He blows out a puff of air and gives a small laugh. "She's been in such a tirade since you left. If she doesn't stop soon, she might chase Carver off, too." Too late he realizes his mistake, his grin faltering as he pats her hand. "I didn't mean -"_

_"She didn’t chase me off; I left for you," she huffs, annoyance stirring under her skin, her heartbeat increasing its rhythm to where it almost hurts to breathe. Her shoulders turn in as she closes her eyes, focusing on trying to draw in a deep breath, but sweet Maker, it hurts, air shallow in her lungs … And then it fades, returns to normal, just like with the pain in her back. Her eyes return to her father's face where worry returns, but she continues on. "I am so close to finding a cure, Papa."_

_His worry falls away into something more solemn. "Lea," he says with a shake of his head. "Pup. Your journey was never about me."_

_She jerks her hand away, tears bitter in her eyes. Him too? He, who always believed in her, he doubts her now? "How can you imply such a thing? I have been through the Void and back looking for the Ashes! To heal you! Everything has been for you!" She pauses to take in a shaky breath. "Don't you want to get better?"_

_"Kalea," he starts to say, but it turns into a cough, one that rattles him -- a beam of sunlight breaks through the curtains to shine on him, and she sees that his cheeks have lost their glow, his skin pale and sticky with sweat._

_"Papa, please. If you can hang on until I get back-"_

_"Lea." His coughing stops, his voice now carrying a hard edge. The light in his eyes falters. "I made my peace with death a long time ago. You're the only one who refuses to accept it."_

_"But Papa-"_

_His hand touches hers, now robbed of its former warmth. "I’ll always see you as that pig-tailed little girl who trailed behind me like a pup, but you haven’t been her for a long time." His other hand reaches up and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I wanted the best for all of you, but especially you, my star. Even here in the Fade, your magic shines brightest of all. It’s how I managed to find you.”_

_Tears spill down her cheek, and he brushes them away with his thumb, his gaze returning to hers. "Out there, I wanted you to grow, to stand on your own. They’ll need you, once I’m gone. That’s why I encouraged you to leave. You needed this journey to grieve -- we all handle our grief in different ways.”_

_Bethany’s humming stops abruptly as Kalea jerks away and stands up, fists wiping away the angry sting of tears in her eyes. "There's nothing to grieve! I'm going to save you! Why don’t you believe me?"_

_"I'm sorry, Pup," is all he says. He stares up at her from his spot on the table, his face thinner now, his hair a little less full._

_Her knees tremble as the father she loves begins to fade into the sick version she left behind in Highever. The shouted words sit bitter and heavy on her tongue, but before she can apologize, the pain returns, the worst one yet, and she doubles over, tears cascading down her face from the pain._

_He's on his feet in an instant, gingerly touching her back and murmuring reassurances._

_"Papa," she whimpers, her eyes wrenched shut. "I think I might be really hurt."_

_When she glances up at him, tears rim his eyes. "I know, Pup. I know." He assists her over to the couch, and by the time she sits, the pain eases but doesn’t fully disappear, her back tender and sore. “Do you remember what happened?”_

_When she shakes her head, he takes both hands in his. “Close your eyes,” he says and she does. “Where are you right now?”_

_“The Storm Coast,” she’s quick to reply, but it’s not a full answer. When she pictures the angry sea and the storm, she removes herself from it, watching from a cold but dry place. A dripping sound alerts her, and she opens her eyes to see they no longer sit in their apartment, but inside a cave where a fire glows warm._

_Her father lets go and rises to his feet, eyebrows scrunched studiously together as he meanders through the cave, pausing to run his hand over the damp rock walls. When he pulls it away, she spots dirt on his fingers._

_The boulder where Sebastian’s things spread out grabs his attention. The bow ends up in his hands, and he pulls the empty string back and swings around to face her. “Picked up archery, have you, Pup?” The glint in his eyes and the grin on his face says he knows better._

_Heat sprints up, and she’s careful of the pain in her back as she stands to walk away, desperate to avoid any further questions. Maker, if her father really asked about Sebastian …_

_The bow ends up back on the ground, and her father rifles through the other belongings. Her father picks up Sebastian’s carefully guarded, very expensive bar of soap, and sniffs. “At least they smell good.”_

_“Papa!” If only her dream would allow the ground to open up and swallow her whole. “Stop snooping through his things.”_

_“A boy? Who is this boy, who has so clearly captured my daughter’s heart?” He laughs as she stomps her foot, a frustrated cry in her throat. “I always thought you preferred girls.”_

_“I don’t have a preference, and even if I did, Papa, it’s none of your business, so will you leave it alone? Maker, you’re as bad as the twins. If I wanted you to know, I would tell you.” Her hands clench tight, half-moons cutting into her palms._

_Her father comes over and touches her shoulder. “All I will say is this, then -- he is fortunate, this boy of yours.” When she glares at him, his smile spreads, but it is a softer, less teasing. “And I am lucky enough to see that you are not alone out there. We all worry for you. Does he … know?”_

_Her front teeth rake across her bottom lip, her gaze falling to his chest as she gives a slow nod. The one rule in their family, and she quickly broke it, worse that it was an accident. She expects to be chastised, for him to critique her carelessness, but instead he pats her shoulder with a shake of his head._

_“I suppose it couldn’t be helped.”_

_She wants to respond, but pain blossoms as her lungs ache anew and refuse deep breaths -- tears stream down her face as she doubles over, her nails digging into the walls to keep her from falling. The campfire roars to life behind her, its heat overwhelming. And she remembers. Their fight. The giant. Flying through the air. And then pain, this pain. The ground begins to quake._

_And before she can say goodbye, everything goes black once more._

A cry of pain escaped Kalea’s lips as she crashed back into consciousness. From a short distance away, she heard a curse in foreign tongue, followed by a rustling sound and then footsteps growing closer. When her eyes slitted open, she spotted a shadow kneeling by her side. A hand, cool to the touch, curled around the back of her head to gently tilt her upright -- the rim of a bottle pushed against her bottom lip. The figure above her leaned the bottle forward, enough for warm liquid to drip into her mouth. “Easy now, Pidge,” comes the familiar brogue of her traveling companion, his voice soft and tender like that night in Honnleath. 

The liquid created a tingling sensation throughout her body, spreading like molasses from where it settled in her stomach. The pain in her back dulled, and breathing returned to full, deep breaths without the crushing of her lungs. When the bottle emptied, he set it down at his side before gently returning her head to the ground. 

The dream -- _Was it a dream? Or did her father really find her in the Fade?_ \-- lingered, and she yearned to go back, if only for one more hug. 

“Pidge?” His voice wavered as he swept his fingertips across her brow, sliding stray pieces of hair to the side. “You awake?”

A muffled “mhm” rumbled in her throat, her tongue languid and useless in her mouth. It sounded more like a grunt than a word, but it answered his question all the same. 

He swept her into a hug, dragging her body up and into his arms as he squeezed and buried his face in her neck. A cry of pain locked in her throat from being jostled, but he ignored it or didn’t hear, too busy murmuring apologies. “You reckless, insufferable, stubborn blight in human form.” He eased back enough, letting go with one hand to push her hair away from her forehead to rest his against her. “Never worry me like that again.” 

Her tongue continued to refuse commands, and when she managed to get something audible out of her mouth, the question slurred together into a single word. “... s’okay?” She meant him, was he okay after the fight with the giant, but with her inability to fully command language, he misread her intention. 

“You’re okay.” The statement sounded almost rehearsed, said more to himself instead of in response to her question, and he hugged her to his chest a little tighter. 


	15. What Do Bandits Have To Do With Anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kynlei made me divide up the chapter so I still have four chapters to go to finish this story. But they are still a terrific beta and even better friend.

Kalea studied Sebastian as he gathered together their newly-abundant, strewn-about supplies, noting how he winced when using his right arm, his muscles seizing like a dropped pebble rippling still waters. A fresh, nasty wound dragged across his right shoulder -- she noted it a few nights before, when he changed out of his shirt. From the giant, possibly, but her gut told her it tied in with the mystery of the supplies. She asked him once where it all came from: potions and food and fresh sheets, pillows, and even armor close to her size; he stayed closed off, muttering a quick, "Bandits," and nothing more.

The yellow glow of the fire did little to illuminate his face, unlike the smile that brightened it when he caught her gaze. "Morning, Pidge." He bent over and picked up one of the glass bottles around his feet, orange liquid sloshing around inside of it -- a health potion. "Better drink up before we head out."

Her recovery since the giant smashed her into the wall set them days behind schedule. Kalea pushed herself upright with a heavy groan, her back aching in protest. The pain, severe cramping from her lower back all the way up to her neck, dug in its claws -- but they should reserve the rest of the stock, just in case. Sebastian hovered above her now, potion already extended in her direction, a stern expression on his face that said he wasn't willing to hear anything but a yes. "Thanks," she murmured as her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. The pads of his fingers skimmed against her knuckles as he let go. He had stopped recoiling from her touch, and often found excuses for light brushes like these -- she didn’t know quite what to make of it.

"We can stay an extra day," he said, squatting down to look at her dead-on. "I know we're technically in a rush, but your health matters, too."

"I'm fine." Her hand waved as if sweeping away his concerns. She had to be fine because the Urn of Sacred Ashes was right there, so close -- at night, the presence whispered like a desire demon, beckoning her to grab them, to save her father. Despite what her father said in his Fade-visit, this journey focused on him and his recovery. _Soon_. She struggled to uncork the bottle, then gave up and pulled it out with her teeth -- a bad habit. Bethany once broke her teeth doing that, missing the cork and biting the bottle. Since then, the Hawke children tried hard not to repeat their sister's mistake.

The potion -- always cold, no matter what -- oozed down her throat, numbing the pain immediately. Taking one so early might be a good idea after all, letting them cover more ground at a quicker pace. The possibility of reaching the Ashes that night dangled out there -- a stretch but not altogether impossible.

Sebastian refused to let her carry anything, and between his bow, quiver, and now two stuffed packs, he resembled something of a pack mule. Guilt churned in her stomach as she stole glances, then turned her attention to her new outfit. The leather armor fit a little loose, even with the straps tightened as much as possible -- she felt like a child playing dress-up in their parent's armor. As they walked to the cave entrance, it rubbed up against spots she knew would eventually blister, but Sebastian insisted she wear it -- _just in case._

Her hand raised against the light sky as they hovered inside the entrance, her sight sensitive to the grey dawn after days of darkness. The rain slowed, a miracle, though the sea raged on, assaulting the shorelines so that a large spray of water caught Kalea in the face. She wiped at her cheeks, her annoyance only lightened when she spotted Sebastian doing the same.

"You're certain you don't want me to carry anything?"

"No need to strain yourself, Pidge," he said with a blossoming smile that she couldn't resist returning. Her eyes flickered to where his scar hid beneath his shirt, and she considered bringing it up, but her lips sealed when he motioned her forward.

Kalea spread her magic out against the sky like a shield and they stepped back into the world.

Like she thought, her armor chafed, and slowed their progress until she threw a fit and stripped down to her travel clothes. Sebastian opened his mouth to protest but the scalding look she threw in his direction halted any commentary.

Her back started hurting again halfway through the day, the potion's effects wearing off, and in a mistake, she didn't gulp down another, still unsure of what they might find guarding the Ashes. The augur's tale involved dragons, and given her recent failure with the giant, a dragon didn't bode well, should they come to face one. These worries though, she kept to herself.

By the time dusk fell, her back felt strained and tender again, and Sebastian rubbed at the scar on his shoulder often. "We should find camp for the night," he spoke, glancing her way before searching around for a dry spot. "There," he pointed to a large evergreen with a healthy underbrush -- not tall enough for tents, and definitely no fire, but dry. She spotted a small fennec already crouched there, out of the rain. It hissed at their approach, then scurried out to find somewhere new.

He unburdened himself before crawling in, then dragged their supplies after him. Careful in lowering herself to the ground, she followed. The underbrush didn't give them enough room to sit up, and she picked a spot near him to lay on her stomach, hiding her grimace as her back pinged with each subtle movement. Their thighs lightly rested against one another.

Without saying anything, Sebastian reached into his pack and took out a potion, shoving it in her direction. "You could've said something," he muttered, attention back on his bag as he rooted around. Cheese and bread popped out next, and he tore the bread in half before handing a chunk over. She enjoyed the cheese more, the sweetness of the crumby white that stuck to her fingers, but left her mouth dry. It washed down with swigs of the potion.

Rather than comment on his chiding, she issued a decree of her own. "Are you ever going to tell me where all this stuff came from?" Her teeth tore into the bread -- stale, but not inedible. And more filling than cheese. Chewing was a struggle however, and she ended up swallowing chunks of it whole.

Sebastian shook his head, his mouth full of food.

She waited until she swallowed before huffing, her brow knitting together. Her shoulder knocked into his. "Bandits explains very little."

"Why must you have an explanation," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Why this incessant need to know everything?"

"Because you refuse to tell me _anything_ ," she groaned, her support arm moving sideways so that her head fell against the ground. Her eyes narrowed as she glared up at him from where she laid. He opened up once or twice, both times in Honnleath, when supplied with copious amounts of alcohol. She didn't know if he snagged any in his supply run, but it didn't seem right, to only have him vulnerable in those moments. There had to be some way … An idea hit her. "What if we played a game?"

Sebastian folded his arms and rested his head there, turned sideways so that she read the suspicion in his eyes. "What kind of game?"

"Truth or dare."

"Pass."

Her nose blew out hot air. "Why not?"

"I know how this goes. You're wanting me to pick truth so you can ask your invasive questions, but I'll only pick dares, and you get madder the longer the game continues. Meanwhile, you only pick truth, and there's nothing I want to know since you constantly overshare. So no, I'm not playing."

"Says you." She stuck her tongue out at him. "Maybe I'll surprise you. Maybe I'll choose dare."

But the matter dropped anyway, at least until darkness claimed the region and she stared up at the underbrush, too wired in excitement for the next day to even consider sleeping. "I can't sleep."

"Not my problem." He shifted around, laying so close to her yet separated by their bedrolls. When she rolled onto her side, her head propped up by her palm, she made out his open eyes peering in her direction -- a shadow of a man. She swallowed the lump building in her throat.

"Why this secrecy over the bandits?" Her hand reached out and gingerly touched at his shoulder, feeling him stiffen under the touch. "Is that where you got this scar?"

"Someone's been watching me dress," he teased, but she surprised herself by nodding in agreement.

"Am I supposed to avert my eyes? Pretend I don't find you attractive?"

That shut him up. With a resigned sigh, she moved her hand away from the spot she touched, bringing it back to her side. "I've been nothing but honest with you about how I feel. And you've only poked fun and toyed with me, insisting I'm a child while you carry on like one." She pulled away and rolled into her back, staring where stars should freckle the night sky, but it was only the black underside of a tree. Outside this dry space, rain dripped off branches and into puddles. She savored the quiet stillness of it before sighing again and closing her eyes. "Keep your secrets, then."

He didn't respond. That sudden swell of annoyance came from nowhere, taking life inside her to seize control of her tongue and escape out her mouth. And now, with nothing for him to say, she reminisced about their argument before the giant attack and the creeping tiredness that entered into it. It seemed their fights moved like an inevitable rotation.

A crunch came from his side as he stirred, and she listened to it, wavering between longing and annoyance as her hands flexed at her side. Fingertips ran across the back of her hand, a feathery caress at her side. When she opened her eyes, she followed the hand covering hers to where his unreadable shadow now lingered close, positioned on his side with an elbow dug into the ground to keep his head upright.

"I'm not proud of what happened after you ..." Hesitation stole the deep timbre of his voice as it faded into something softer, then trailed away. He shook his head as if clearing away his thoughts. "I'll answer your questions," he said, and then after a pause, added, "All of them."

The darkness veiled her surprise at the turnaround. Maybe her words stung more than he wanted to admit. Her tongue wet her lips before she replied with a smile, forgetting he couldn’t see. "Truth or dare."

"Truth," he said with amusement in his voice. She pictured his grin, the corners of his lips drawn back in a subtle way, and her heart yearned to connect her mouth to those corners. Her hand, still connected to his, shifted so that their fingers interlaced, and she squeezed. 

"What do bandits have to do with anything?"

Even knowing the question was coming, he sighed and released her hand, falling onto his back. Unlike earlier, the parts of him that pressed against her radiated heat like sun off a rock, even through the bedrolls. She yearned for nothing more than to sink into that warmth, despite the sudden flush of heat from her chest. His head now laid very close to her own, and she fought with all her strength to not reach over and run her fingers through his hair, sweep away the stray pieces that she knew fell into his eyes. 

"I first noticed them when we passed -- a few signs that they had a camp in the hills. After you ..." His voice trailed off again, only refound after a slow swallow. "After the fight, it was the only place I could think that might have medical supplies."

"And you were right."

"Aye. I was right."

Her lips pursed as she mused over this. The fresh wound on his shoulder kept returning to her mind, and even though it could've come from the fight with the giant, she knew it connected somehow to the bandits. They found him, someone who prided himself on stealth. Was it that shame then that made him hide this from her? Which meant an altercation with one of the bandits. Several of them?

She decided to save that line of questions for the next round.

"Ask me."

"Kalea, I really don't-"

"It's only fair."

Another sigh. "Truth or dare."

She considered dare, but didn't want to do anything that might move her away from laying so close to him. "Truth."

He went silent for a few minutes while forming a question. "Those tattoos on your back, what do they mean?"

Her eyes closed as she remembered the pain when she received them, the Hawke family brand of magic. Her father scattered his across his body. Bethany had her own running down both thighs. Carver had held her hand, his jealousy muted by her sobbing, while Kalea held the other. 

"Who's watching who undress now?" It went quiet again, and too late she realized the poor taste of the joke. "They're wards, like runes,” she answered quickly, attempting to recover from the awkwardness. “My father designed them to protect against demon possession." Her head inclined toward his dark face and unreadable expression. "You could've asked. Before this, I mean."

"There wasn't a right time," he said.

"True." She gave a small, reassuring smile, forgetting only momentarily that he couldn't see it. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What happened to your shoulder?" Her fingertips glided over the area, and this time, his hand slipped over hers, pressing her palm flat against it. It pulsed beneath her hand, steady with his heartbeat.

"A mistake -- I was sloppy." His voice cracked as he said the last word, and he let go of her hand, shying away from her touch. "I didn't ... you were so pale when I left, Pidge. I was too scared to move you, scared to find out ... I didn't have time for caution." He tacked on the last sentence in a frantic stumbling from his mouth, erasing where the previous sentence headed. 

Knots formed in her stomach as she pictured it, him racing into the camp in a frenzy, adrenaline the only thing keeping him moving. "How many?"

"All of them." His voice, so earnest only moments ago, now fell flat, devoid of any feeling. His hand raised, fist clenched -- she made out the shape in the dark. "Maybe they deserved that, I don't know. But I don't feel right about it." His hand opened, as though letting something go, before he rolled onto his side again, facing her. A puff of air blew from between his lips, followed by a humorless chuckle. "Maybe I’m going soft.”

She snorted, which earned a soft laugh from him. And then his fingers found her face, tracing the shape of it with such a slow tenderness that it stole the breath from her lungs. The sound of his voice returned, quieter this time. “I thought about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Saw that cursed giant throwing you and the sound you made when you hit the wall like a fucking loop in my head.” 

When he paused, the air stopped with him, and she leaned in as if searching for the spot where it began again. His breathing, shallow, broke against her cheeks. “I thought I lost you.” His fingers skated through her hair, his palm now firmly cupping her cheek. 

_I’m right here_ , she wanted to say. Her mouth felt as though she never drank in her life, and her lips licking at the corners of her mouth did little to ease the dryness. Maker, she longed for him to continue, to spell out exactly why her death might have him act in such a way, to admit that he cared. Her heart let out heavy thuds in her chest as she waited for the words she knew would never arrive. 

When the silence lingered too long, when she thought he might begin to pull away and return to his feigned aloofness, she said, barely more than a hoarse whisper, “Truth or dare,” knowing full well it wasn’t her turn to ask. 

Despite Sebastian's vow for the truth, he replied with "Dare," his voice not any louder than her own. It didn't matter; she would get her answer either way. 

"Kiss me."

He didn't hesitate.


	16. It's The Final Countdown

A songbird's warbling startled Kalea from her drowsing. 

Her restlessness throughout the night only served to rob her of energy as she awaited the break of dawn so her farce could end. Sebastian spent the hours up and down, jostling her each time she hung on the cusp of meaningful rest, but she could not find it within herself to bear a grudge. 

He slept in her place, gentle breaths that ruffled a few strands of hair at the back of her head, his arms loose around her. With the press of his lips to hers in the night's darkness, she found the thought of losing his touch unbearable, and tucked herself carefully away into his arms when his kisses turned languid and he stifled yawns into the curves of her neck. 

That was why she bore his movements, let him deprive her of a sleep she wasn't sure would come. Whenever she closed her eyes, she pictured finding the ashes, the look on her father's face when she returned triumphant and with company. Her family would have fawned all over the newcomer, Carver especially to have another non-mage in the vicinity. Images of Sebastian teaching her brother how to fight with weaponry curved the edges of her lips, the snappy remarks they would make to one another. Sebastian might have finally found a place he belonged. 

Muted pain ached in her back from the lack of solid support, and she shifted off one side to the other, facing the sleeping frame of her love. Dark lashes fluttered as her mouth touched the gentle pulse on his throat, a hum of appreciation rising from inside her. He smelled most like himself, hidden here beneath the evergreen, all sweat and earth and none of his lavious perfumes and soaps. Her eyes closed as she breathed him in, curious if the truth he spilled into the darkness would shine with regret under the light of day. 

Honnleath flashed in her mind, memories of his shame and how he hid himself after, as though speaking honestly was considered some great sin. She didn't want to return to that, only longed to hold onto this gentler side of him. 

His head shifted against the pillow, and a few loose strands of hair fell into his face. She extended her hand to brush it away, tucking a few of the longer strands behind his ear. Her fingertips lingered there on the side of his face as she stared, her heart swelling until it felt ready to break free and leap into him. She knew nothing about this man, not even his last name or his home, and yet she had a sneaking suspicion that he revealed more of himself to her than anyone before. Let him keep his clothes on, for she wished to unravel his secrets, yearned to hoard the knowledge like a ripe fruit, shared only between themselves. Have him reveal his worst so that she could kiss it away and say, "You are here now. My love will not falter so easily."

Her fingertips tapped at his cheeks, and she pressed herself up against him, sliding up until her head shared the very corner of his pillow. Her nose bumped his as she brushed her lips along his slack face, her fingers threading through the bedraggled mess of his hair. Stale breath broke upon her chin as plush lips parted, his tongue flicking out like a snake to wet their dry corners. "Pidge," he rasped, his voice quiet and somber. 

Here it came, she thought to herself. Here he would admit his folly, place her back at arm's length. Call last night a fluke and she would return to her wanting and longing and he would resume aggravating her. 

A hand lifted, running through her knotted hair -- she felt the familiar tug, like a brush trying to undo the damage -- before he gave up and cupped her cheek instead. Two deep-as-the-ocean-blue eyes cracked open before falling closed again. His hand shifted again, moving to cover her mouth to shove her away as he groaned, "Let me sleep, you wretched lass. I'm exhausted."

Wretched, he called her. She licked his palm the way she would with her siblings, the surprise of it causing him to reel back. His once sleepy gaze now stared at her in disbelief, his brow pensive, his mouth open and forming a question that she quickly cut off. 

"I haven't gotten to sleep with your tossing and turning and getting up only to lay right back down, but please, do go on and tell me how  _ you're _ exhausted. I do so love listening to you complain." Her nose wrinkled as she matched his stare, her pinched lips stuck between a grimace and smile. 

A bark of laughter escaped his throat, and his arms tightened around her, dragging her into his chest. "I see you're not in good spirits today. I'll tread more carefully then."

"I was until you decided to open your mouth," came her muffled reply. She shoved away from him, only for him to bring her back in for a quick peck on the lips. Like water dousing on the fires of her anger, the red in her cheeks faded, felled by something so soft as a simple press of lips. 

He did not intend to shy away in the day's light, a little giddy as she realized it. Instead, he kissed her deeply, his hands across her body like the mapping of new terrain, and she eagerly leaned into his touch until a static charge sparked in her chest, the hair on her arms rising to attention as it built.

She didn't wish to harm him again, not like the accident in the cave. Careful not to use her hands, she twisted her body away, the motion pinging the pain in her back like the rekindling of dying embers. Her lips broke free from his, and when she touched the ground to try and roll over enough to grab a potion, the patch of grass smoked and blackened under her palm. 

Sebastian looked at her bemused, an eyebrow quirked. 

"I'm working on it," she said, reading the question posed in his gaze. 

"Was that almost me?"

"I said I'm working on it." An indignant huff followed, the only thing masking the sheer, utter embarrassment at losing control of her powers yet again. The potion bag became a shield, wedging between them as she rooted around inside, yanking out the first bottle her fingers brushed.

"You didn't seem to have this problem last night." A smirk danced along his lips and she considered both shoving him away and also bringing him forward to finish that electric kiss. 

Her teeth pulled at the cork, and it gave way with a satisfying pop. She took a hearty swig before replying, "What can I say? Tongue's more exciting when I get to see who’s doing it."

He rolled his eyes with a snort, his good humor only failing once his attention returned to that black spot. She spotted the look in his eyes as he weighed out the risks of continuing the current track of this thing between them. 

"I'm getting a better grip on it," she said, trying not to sound pleading but desperate to cut off his line of thought before he declared her not worth the risk. "This is all new to me." The bottle returned to her lips where she gulped the orange liquid greedily, aching for relief and eager to return her mouth to the warmth of his skin. He shivered when she pressed it to his throat. 

"We should go," he said, and the world splintered around her. Here was the end; she would rise to her feet like a spell now broken and continue on like none of this happened, wiped clean from his memory but never hers. 

But he surprised her when they set off down the path and his hand bumped against hers. His long, nimble fingers threaded between hers, and when she glanced up at him with the shock written clearly across her face, he merely offered her a grin as if it were a normal thing for him to do, like he had done it thousands of times before. His thumb ran across her palm, almost ticklish, and she squeezed hard to trap it between them. 

The altar loomed ahead, the highest cliff on the Coast within their sights. Half a day until they reached it's summit -- she checked the rough map for certainty, her fingers walking the trail before her feet. 

Everything built to this. As she set about climbing, using tree branches to yank herself forward on the steep incline, her heart thundered inside her chest like stealing the storm from the sky. Sebastian struggled the most, often losing his footing in the mud while balancing the supplies on his back. His inexperience showed itself in the forward setting of his foot, not leveling it to the terrain. This wasn’t like climbing a path in the Frostbacks. Every so often, she paused to let him catch up, her mind ahead on what they might find at the top. 

The crest held a clearing and a lone tree, twisted and thick, half of the roots climbing on one another atop the surface. 

Kalea gaped at it, then swiveled around, searching for the altar. Sebastian huffed as he pulled himself off the slope and made his way beside her. A trembling began in her knees. The augur, this had to be it, and after  _ everything  _ \--

Sebastian grabbed her face and kissed her. She flung herself away, bewildered and temper flaring like a dragon rearing its head, but his focused expression lacked the softness of his teasing. “Don’t fret, Pigeon,” he said, his voice gentle like the afternoon breeze. “We’re here now. And you know that miracle cures are so rarely easy to find.” His lips formed a half-smile with an ease that she envied, and his hands clasped hers. 

Relief and admiration bubbled up inside her. Thank the Maker for him, his support the only thing keeping her upright. Her lips touched the curve of his jaw, as high as she could reach even standing on the tips of her toes. 

They broke apart and she flipped through the journal while he surveyed the land for any hidden passages. Beneath, the book read in her scrawl. Beneath the altar. It was a riddle, was it not? In the tale spun by the augur, he called the cliff itself the altar, so beneath it would be …

Sebastian gave a shout. 

She found him studying the tree, flecking off pieces of the bark. With her head cocked to the side, she watched his fingers dig into the tree and pry up a strip, followed by another. "It's overgrown," he said without sparing a glance in her direction. "But there is definitely a door here. Or was, if I can … just …" A huff of frustration preceded a great cracking sound, like that of lightning. The newly budded leaves trembled as the wood split open, a large piece of bark swinging back like the opening of a door. 

He poked his head in before popping it right back out. "I can't see anything."

"We have to go inside," she said with dawning realization and rushed forward in her eagerness. Her hands blindly searched until they found the mossy rungs of a ladder, her palms black when she brought them out into the light. Would it hold? 

"I can't fit in there," he said, his face pained. But he wouldn't stop her, and even if he tried, they both knew she'd do it anyway. "Pidge." He drew her close, tilting his head so that his forehead pressed against hers. "Be careful. You don't know what's down there."

"The ashes are down there." Determination shone in her voice as a light in the darkness, and she reached for him, her dirty fingers smudging stains along his skin until coming to rest over his hands that framed her face. 

They lingered there, a statue of worry and affection, hearts beating out frantic rhythms as she steeled herself for descent. 


	17. One Does Not Simply Find The Urn of Sacred Ashes

Darkness swallowed Kalea.

At first, she glanced up every few rungs, reassured by the light spilling through from the door and the outline of Sebastian’s face as he watched her descent. But eventually the void gobbled that, too. She paused when she noticed, letting out a small, “Bash?” 

No answer.

She continued. Sinking into the depths, the air grew dank and heavy with earth, her lungs burning as if buried alive. Her eyelids fluttered, weighted like her limbs, ready for a nap. The lack of sleep caught her at last in its grip, and her energy waned like a crack inside of her, trickling out with each step down. 

Kalea breached the center of the world, and still, she climbed. 

Steadily, she worked her way down, hands invisible despite the close proximity. Grime coated her palms, thick from what clung to the ladder, the sensation like muddy sand on her hands. She gripped each rung tighter than the last, scared of her fingers slipping, and then she would fall forever, lost in the abyss. 

A yelp absconded from her throat as her foot struck solid ground. 

Cautious, she dropped her other foot, testing the hard surface with the toes of her boots. Still, she held on tight, and then released one hand to snap her fingers, forming a small flame to hover in her hand. The sudden flash of light burned her eyes, even dimmed, and she quickly ducked her face into her shoulder, eyes already stinging with tears.

When her sight adjusted and the watering stopped, she extended the flame, little by little, careful to save her magic in case of a fight. The light caught the edge of a half-used torch, discarded on the ground, and she finally let go of the ladder to grab for it. The flame took to it instantly and her power eased back like a sigh of relief. 

She stood in the center of what once was an ornate chamber, now dark with erosion and filth. Small flecks of gold glittered in the torch, rare patches rubbed clean or missed when ruin befell this place. Her heart thundered in her chest like the eye of a storm as she took uneasy steps forward, eyes sweeping the ground for hidden triggers to traps. 

Doors carved with intricate runes hung open to the next room. As she approached, her gaze caught sight of a plaque written in the same foreign language she recognized from Temple of Shartan, split down the center between the two towering doors. Unlike last time, the letters remained stationary, not rearranging for her benefit. Where the muck coated heaviest, a large handprint, too, divided beneath the words. 

Thunder boomed in her ears, nearly upsetting her balance.

Someone else had been there. 

_ Not a big deal _ , she assured herself as she brushed past the doors. The Temple of Shartan saw its share of visitors too. A vision of the empty altar swam in her mind, and she choked back the whimper it caused. What happened if she arrived too late?

_ No _ . That single word stilled the storm raging in her chest, and her foot paused, half-set on the floor. The spirits wouldn’t send her here for nothing. They promised that her quest ended here; she wouldn’t doubt their wisdom now, not after coming so far.

The first chamber led into a long empty tunnel, echoing only her footsteps as she made her way forward. The torch continued to be the only source of light until a brief flicker on one of the walls caught her eye. She stopped and turned toward the dirty wall. 

The light grew until it formed a face, translucent and green and flickering. She gave a small cry, stumbling backward as it began to speak loud, garbled words. The edges of the words stung her ears, high-pitched and distorted, and she covered them with both hands, her face twisted in pain. “Please, stop,” she begged.

The face disappeared. 

Kalea waited for something else to happen, for that green demon or spirit or whatever it was to return, but when the wall remained blank, she cautiously advanced and wiped away some of the grime from the wall. Another plaque glimmered there in its golden splendor, but the words stayed as they were, the same as the door.

With no understandable explanation given for what she witnessed, she pressed forward.

It took three steps before the hallway faded into a forest, the woods darkening with the evening sun. Two little girls played ahead, and though Kalea watched their mouths open and close, no sound came from them, not even footsteps. They were elven, dressed similarly to the Avvar, white-blonde hair braided loose. 

Kalea followed them, but they took no notice of her, even when she called out to them. The girls’ happy faces soured in bitter disagreement, and when one of the girls reached out to shove the other, a blinding bright light obliterated the scene. Kalea gasped, a hand flying up to shield her gaze, and when it faded, she found herself back in the hall, the forest and the girls erased.

The light came from the girl’s hands. 

Kalea knew the story of Andraste. That little girl bore a passing resemblance to the statues in the temple, and armed with the knowledge of her powers, Kalea quickly deduced what happened. 

Magic was not always kind to its master.

Her head bowed in a moment of silence for the little girl; Andraste’s sister, Halliserre. And then she started to walk once more. 

The next scene caught her less by surprise when the hallway flickered to life, a distorted blur of a wedding ceremony. Then the birth of her daughters. Her rebellions. Falling in love with Shartan. The betrayal of Maferath. Echoes of Andraste’s life unfolded with each footfall, the hallway vast and endless. Kalea averted her gaze when they set fire to Andraste, tears streaking clean the dirt on her cheeks. 

But another scene flashed right when an opening for the next room, this scene sharper than all the others. A city of stone burned around her, the skies above swirling with black clouds, reflecting the orange of the flames with the vibrancy of the sun. Ahead of her, a furious woman with red eyes glared, red sword drawn that resembled more a chunk of crystal than a refined piece of steel. She favored Andraste, the depiction that the Chantry used -- but as an antithesis of Her Lady, all wild blonde hair and rage.

The woman before her wore a templar’s uniform. 

This was not Andraste’s life. A cold sweat broke over Kalea, and she knew deep down that if she were to turn around, her own face would stare back, facing down this nightmare. 

“No,” came a strangled cry, her voice, and she touched her throat to snatch it back. The storm returned to her chest as she struggled for breath, a fresh rain of tears pelting her cheeks. Her knees gave out and she fell hard, her arms the only thing keeping her from completely collapsing against the ground. 

The scene snapped off, leaving Kalea alone once more. Still, the red of the templar’s eyes haunted her, glowing where she once stood like twin phantoms. 

_ They find me _ .

From the disgust and outrage on that templar’s face, there would be no Circle for her. 

_ They find me _ .

Her worst fear brought to life. Her arms trembled as her lungs fought for air, attempting to calm the tempest inside her. She wished this place hadn't shown her that. It was better, not knowing, thinking she had a chance at freedom. If only she had closed her eyes and trudged down that hallway, ignored everything else, that false peace would’ve stayed. 

Even behind her eyelids, that hateful woman’s glare burned.

She should run. When she left here, what if she kept going and didn’t stop? Maybe made a break for Tevinter, and then it wouldn’t matter if they found her or not. Her fingers curled against the stone as she considered the possibility of never seeing her family again, even for their protection. That templar could find her, but Bethany would be safe. 

Her father would be ...

The thought of him forced her head up, her eyes ahead to the opening of the next room. The torch laid nearby, the flame small but still burning. She came here for her father and she wouldn’t fail him now, not so close to success. He needed the ashes, and then, only then, would she consider anything else. 

_ They find me. But they haven’t found me yet. _

Her knees quaked as she stumbled back to her feet, and she leaned a little heavily against the wall while she centered herself.

Another chamber, this one much smaller than the first, capped the hallway. A single door, ordinary in every way, stood center. In front of it perched a small stone basin, held upright by a statue of two hands cupped together. And another plaque, this one in the center of the bowl. The words shifted for her convenience this time.

_ Relinquish All Weapons; Enter In Peace. _

Kalea removed two daggers from her belt. A cold chill ebbed down her spine as she dropped them in, an involuntary shudder twitching her shoulders as they hit the stone. When her hands pulled away, a hollow sensation bloomed inside her chest like she placed a chunk of herself in that basin with those daggers. 

The door swung open before she had time to wonder about it. 

“Finally,” a bored voice inside called. 

Kalea stepped into a room brightly lit by pale blue fire, similar to that in the augur’s hut. This room was smaller still, barely ornamented except for a large golden altar, set in the center, surrounded by flames. 

“I thought you’d be taller,” the voice said from behind her, sounding a little disappointed. Kalea swung around and gave a small shriek at the see-through human-shaped face that peered at her with dark holes for eyes. 

“What the fuck,” Kalea said, a little winded, a hand pressed tight against her chest. She took a few steps back, careful not to bump into the fire. When she snapped her fingers to call forth her magic to scare the thing away, the hollow feeling inside her exploded. Nothing happened. 

Kalea glanced from the figure to her empty hands, then back again. “Did that … is my magic … where is it?” Her tone transformed from soft to demanding in a single sentence. Already, she yearned for the return of her blessing, her curse, her  _ power _ . 

“The sign did say  _ all _ , or did you think you were being a sneaky little mage?” The creature gave a grin, the appearance sinister on its hollow face. 

It should be a relief, especially after seeing that templar, but any feeling of the sort was quickly covered by annoyance. It was  _ hers _ ; this thing had no right to take it. “Is it permanent?”

“We don’t want your weakling human magic. Not when ours is better.” It disappeared, only to reappear sitting on the golden altar. Its dark eyes peered across the blue flames, that infuriating smile still stretched across its face.

“So what is this, another test?” Kalea glared at the snarky thing. Between her magic missing and the vision and standing this close,  _ this close _ , to the ashes, her patience tired of these trials. She wanted to go  _ home,  _ to a bath and fresh air and Sebastian,  _ oh Sebastian _ \-- her heart leapt to him as he waited above ground for her return, surely pacing in his frustration. How long before he said fuck it and found a way to follow her down?

“Test,” it repeated, followed by peals of cruel laughter. “Idiot human, not willing to see what’s right in front of it.”

Fists clenched at her sides, and she noticed for the second time the empty altar. “Where’s the Urn?”

“Not here.” Its cold smile widened. “Not here, not here. You’re too late. Centuries too late.”

Dread rocked her like a ship in a hurricane, but she pushed forward. “No,” she said, her voice more solid than the lurching of her stomach inside of her. “You’re playing with me. The spirits said -”

“The spirits,” it sneered, crossing its arms over its chest. “They did you a favor. Not that you’d recognize it, too self-centered. You humans are all the same.  _ Save me, save me! _ ” It put its hands up, pretending to cower. 

When it tired of its childish mockery, it hopped down, close enough now that she could see its skin wave like a flag in a gentle breeze. “Did you ever stop to consider, in all your running around, that maybe, just maybe, Malcolm Hawke isn’t meant to get better? No, because you think you’re owed; you put in the effort so you expect the reward.”

"My father is a good man." Her voice trembled while her body locked in place, scared that the slightest movement might send her crashing to the ground. "He doesn't deserve-"

"Deserves, she says!" It clapped its hands together almost gleefully. "Death isn't about who deserves it or not." It vanished only to reappear by the altar, resting its elbows against the gold while it leaned forward, those dark eyes staring into her. "It doesn't care what is owed or how good or bad a person is. It's inescapable." It jabbed a finger in her direction. "Even for you, Kalea Hawke.  _ Especially _ for you. Learn that now or suffer for your naivety."

Hot tears stung in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks; she made no effort to wipe them away. "Then what was all this fucking for?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she felt herself begin to unravel, the anger and annoyance peeling back to leave her raw beneath it. Her fists clenched tighter, half-moons of her nails biting into her palm hard enough for the pain to keep her focused. 

"Malcolm Hawke's death is the catalyst." 

"Catalyst? For what?" 

But the creature disappeared, for good this time, leaving her alone in a room that once promised life, once inspired hope. The blue fire dimmed as she let go, sinking to her knees while screams bubbled out of her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has always been about the Ashes, but I never gave them their due. I did better this time.


	18. Do You Want Feelings? Because That’s How You Get Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! You can have another chapter, as a treat. <3

When Kalea resurfaced into the world above, Sebastian hovered nearby to assist her out of the tree. The strained expression on his face said he knew what she found down there. 

The grey clouds above darkened with the impending night, and they clumsily felt their way back to where they camped the night before. She didn’t immediately duck under the tree’s cover, instead letting the rain wash her clean, her face tilted toward the starless sky. 

A touch on her lower back nearly startled her. Her eyes popped open as she jerked away from it. Sebastian stood beside her, bangs ragged and hanging in front of his eyes that he made no motion to sweep away. The hand that he had placed on her back fell back to his side.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

She gave a single shake of her head, then turned her face back to the sky. 

A quiet few days passed. 

“Will you stay? After?” They had found a dry area under a leaning rock, and used it to make camp. The first fire since the cave flickered between them as she sat with her knees drawn to her chest, gaze studying him slightly above her crossed arms. 

The slow swallow, the apple of his throat bobbing, his tongue darting from between his lips to wet them -- it answered the question long before he managed to get the word out. 

Her forehead returned to resting against her arms. She suspected as much. 

That night, she waited for the even rise and fall of his chest before tiptoeing over and curling into the empty space beside him. His heart beat the steady tempo of sleep; her eyes closed as she savored the sound and the warmth of his body against hers. Her own heart skidded around like a rabbit, frightened of what came next. 

The next day, she broke the pensive silence with, “Can I ask why?” The sun hovered off of the ground, casting the golden glow of evening in the sheen of Sebastian’s hair. His piercing blue eyes flicked off the path ahead of them, and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered cloak. Kalea waited for a response, wondering if he would deny her this. 

“It’s …” He paused, then thought better of his wording and restarted. “I’m going home.”

“Oh.”  _ Home _ . The word flared in her brain like paper caught in a fire. Her foot kicked at a stone in the path, sailing it ahead. In three days, she would be home and … Her teeth sunk into her lower lip while she attempted to halt the thoughts to follow. Instead, she thought of Honnleath and the wine heavy on his breath, and -- “You said you hated it there. You said --”

“I know what I said,” he snapped, the tension in his face immediately falling as he registered what he did. “Sorry, that was … it’s not directed at you. I can’t keep running from my responsibilities. I know that now.” 

She stopped walking, and he mimicked the action, pausing a short distance away. “I like you like this, exactly how you are. You shouldn’t have to change for them.” 

He flashed her a weary smile. “It’s not for them.” 

“Oh,” she repeated, feeling foolish. Nothing she said would change his mind, would help him see how wonderful she saw him, so she fell back into her quiet state, kicking rocks as they trudged along. 

Sitting around the fire later, she asked, “Can I write?” 

“It’s better if you didn’t,” he said, his gaze falling into the flames. 

_ Better for who _ , she wondered, her attention traveling back and forth between him and the coals. What she did say, much later as he stood to ready himself for bed, was, “So that’s it then. You’re going to disappear.” 

Instead of heading for his bedroll, he slipped around to her side of the fire and took a seat close to her, his thighs pressing firm against hers. His hands slipped into her lap, prying apart her twisting hands and bringing them to his lips. To his credit, he didn’t apologize, and she wouldn’t have accepted even if he did. 

When she snuck over to him that night, curling into his side the way she had nights before, he surprised her with a sleepy kiss to the forehead. His arm tucked around her, and he rolled so that her face buried into his neck for a change. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the soft skin of his shoulder. “Promise that you’ll remember me?” 

“How could I ever forget?” His free hand stroked through her hair as he planted another kiss, this one on her crown. She didn’t know if he meant those words, or if he spoke only for her benefit, but the sentiment came appreciated either way. 

When they reached Stormbay, a letter awaited her arrival. The courier bowed her head as she handed off the hastily-scrawled letter, written on a scrap of paper before shoved into a wrinkled yellow satchel. 

_ They found us _ . 

Kalea’s blood ran cold. The paper clenched in her fist, the small market suddenly too cramped. 

“Pidge?” Sebastian’s voice echoed like at the far end of a hallway, and when she refused to acknowledge him, staring only at the paper now hidden in her fist, he guided her away from the stalls. They ended up in a narrow alleyway, tight quartered but giving a semblance of privacy. His hands gripped her shoulders as he turned her to face him. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“Templars,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her fist unraveled, revealing the single piece of paper, the words staining it with jet black ink. 

He plucked it from her hands and studied it. Finally, he said, “Someone sent it, right? So maybe they got away. Where would your family go? Did they make a plan?”

She gazed up at him, the horror replacing itself with determination. “Lothering. Papa said we’d go to Lothering next.” Her pack swung around on her shoulder and she dug out the journal, and with it, the maps. “Here,” she said, pointing to a spot far South from where they stood. Stormbay was one town over from Highever; Lothering was weeks away. That added time, to which she was grateful. She wasn’t quite ready to lose Sebastian yet. 

“Then that’s where we’ll head,” he said with a firm nod. 

The map refolded and tucked away into the journal, which --  _ shit _ . She promised Brother Genetivi she’d send it back at the end. She clutched the journal to her chest, debating whether to send it now or wait until they arrived closer to Lothering. It felt like losing the third companion on this journey. 

Everyone was leaving her. 

She shook the nasty thought out of her head, then leaned forward, resting her forehead to Sebastian’s chest. His arms folded around her shoulders, and he smoothed circles into her back. The words --  _ I’m sorry _ or  _ It’ll be okay _ \-- never came, to which she was grateful.

Days passed in a haze where he shone like a lighthouse through the fog. 

Bright morning surrounded the small tent where two bedrolls jammed themselves together in the confined space. Kalea preferred this time, waking up first to catch a glimpse at a sleeping Sebastian. She loved noting all the little details: the untamed cowlick that favored the left side of his head, the tiniest of freckles that started around the base of his neck and spread along his shoulders, the way his dark lashes fluttered as he dreamed. Her lips yearned to press into the corners of his slack mouth. 

She no longer dreamed of a forever in these arms, the inevitability of their loss stealing some of the heat away from her place inside them. Sebastian never promised to fulfill any of her dreams, and she was a fool to assume, to want more than he offered her. But still, she loved him, her heart not bound by logic or the dreaded disappearance, half-expecting him to fade piece by piece until she woke alone. 

No, it held steadfast in its feelings for him. A small part of her wondered if he felt the same, felt anything more than he shared, but she refused to let those speculations sweep her away into fantasies. 

They both laid there, and it would never be, could never be, anything more than that.

Her bladder demanded attention, and she prolonged laying beside him as long as she could before she might burst. 

When she returned, she slipped back into place, her face nuzzling into the darkness of his neck. He remained impossible to rouse in the mornings, too busy sleeping like an ocean tide at night. He tried, after she spoke to him about it, to keep still in his fits of wakefulness throughout the nights, but then he’d shift and her mind would throw her into full alert the way it had since childhood, ready to fight or flee. She should be the one sleeping in, not him.

He bathed only two nights before, his skin still sweet with the perfumes of his soaps. Her lips rested against him while she drew in a deep breath, followed by a long, drawn out exhale like a sigh. Maker, she would miss this, miss  _ him _ , even as annoying as she found him sometimes. 

Her teeth grazed his pulse when she opened her mouth in a yawn, and she felt a hard swallow in return. So he was awake after all. Instead of rolling back to greet him, a devilish idea entered her mind and she pretended to yawn again, using more teeth this time to nip at the sensitive skin around his neck. Her fingers, already resting against his side, danced down until finding the hem of his shirt, then dipped beneath it to dig her nails into his back. 

His breath caught, which only encouraged her more. Kisses against his throat opened until the salt of his skin sucked behind her teeth. His hands now twisted in the fabric of her shirt at her back. He rolled, pinning her to the ground with his weight. 

“Leech,” he hissed. When she let go and fell completely onto her bedroll, his eyes, pupils blown wide, stared at her with a hunger that excited her. His mouth found hers -- clumsily, missing the first time to land on her cheek but connecting eventually. 

Sparks ignited inside of her the more passionate the kiss grew, and she broke it off, allowing herself to breathe and steady her powers. He didn't notice her fight for control, his mouth now focused under her jaw, a chorus of whimpers building from his ministrations. 

Clothes grew into a frustrating barrier, and she maneuvered his shirt up and over his head with ease. His eyes sparkled above her, and when he dove back in to kiss her again, she pushed at his shoulders, rolling them over until she straddled his stomach. 

And then her hands lifted the edges of her shirt, but before she could yank it off, a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The action caught her by surprise and threw her off balance. A small shriek left her lips as she tipped over, but a half-rising Sebastian swiftly used his other arm to sweep her forward into his chest as she fell. 

Chest hair tickled under her nose as she glared straight ahead, face smashed against him. Why did he stop her? Did she make a wrong assumption?

He let go of her wrist after a lengthy pause, and when she rocked back to where her knees took most of her weight, his eyes brimmed with worry. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, still a little perturbed. Her arms managed to wiggle free and she smoothed her shirt back down, her chest pimpling from the brief exposure. 

He breathed out a foreign curse, recognizable only by the tenacity with which he said it, and scrubbed both hands down his face, using this chance to sit fully up from his reclined position in which he caught her. “Fuck, Pidge. This is …” His voice trailed off, and she caught a glimpse of his eyes peering in her direction from between the slots of his fingers. 

A lump formed in her throat, watching him struggle for words. When she placed a hand gingerly to his healing shoulder, he flinched beneath her touch and she drew her hand back to settle in her lap. “Do you? Want to, that is? I assumed, but maybe --”

“Aye.” His voice, barely above a whisper, cut her off thankfully. A ramble existed at the end of that sentence, one that might end in a fight by a few careless words. “You have no idea how much I do.” But his confirmation lacked enthusiasm, more pained than keen, as his hands fell away from his face.

“But.” Her fingers flexed in her lap, but she didn’t dare to touch him again. Instead, her gaze tried to meet his from where it fell discarded on the ground between them. 

“You deserve better than what I have to offer,” he muttered, still refusing to meet her eyes. His hands clenched at his sides. “Don’t you want more, want someone who will stay?”

This time, she didn’t stop herself from reaching out, running her fingers lightly along his jaw, tipping his chin up from where it hung. “Bash,” she said, scooting closer, dropping off her knees and into his lap and wrapping her legs around him. “I love  _ you _ , even if you can’t stay.” 

His eyes met hers with some lingering hesitation, so different from the fury her confession originally elicited out of him. He looked so sad, almost heartbroken as his head leaned forward until his forehead pressed to hers. She closed her eyes, feeling each of his breaths break on her lips. Her free hand snaked around to the back of his neck, settling in the hair along his nape. 

“I’m just happy you’re here now,” she murmured, a smile curling the corners of her lips. 

"I'm glad I'm here, too," he said softly, and his mouth reconnected to hers. When she made another attempt to remove her shirt, he didn’t stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I love this rewrite? Cause I really do. It just flows better, feels more natural, Sebastian is more in character. 
> 
> I know in the original, there was some graphic sex, and if you read round one, you probably thinks that comes next. Sorry, but not this time. Sex yes, but not graphic. Otherwise, I'd be too distressed at writing a sex scene and it'd be another seven months before the next chapter. 
> 
> Two chapters left! Thank you for sticking with me this far. Shout out to my wonderful beta, Kynlei, and Erin for letting me bother her with questions, and Ms_Saboteur for commenting on every chapter <3\. This one's for you ;)


	19. Thanks, I Hate It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL READY FOR SOME MOTHERFUCKING ANGST??? Just a heads up, we are headed into an emotional climax. I cried writing it. I can only hope you cry reading it. 
> 
> Also talk of sex in this chapter. 
> 
> Special thanks to Kynlei and Erin for betaing.

The tent burned.

Kalea and Sebastian stood dumbfounded, clothes bunched together and held against their bare chests. Sweat glistened across their bare skin, hair mussed and thick with knots. 

And then Sebastian started to laugh.

The sex was, for lack of a better word, a disaster.

It was good, really good, apparently too good when confronted with the spontaneous combustion of their tent. 

Kalea’s daze broke as she joined in, chuckling a little at first, letting it build until she howled with laughter, nearly doubling over as her lungs struggled for reprieve. Her cheeks ached, and the spot under her chin smarted something awful, definitely planning to form a bruise from where Sebastian’s head connected when he was lining himself up. 

Which still hadn’t hurt half as bad as when her calf muscle started cramping with his mouth between her legs, and she nearly kneed him in the face over it. He ended up massaging it away, then the other leg to be sure, and that was when they decided to switch it up, which led to his hard head slamming into her chin because he didn’t realize she had half-raised herself up to watch. 

But even that didn’t compare to the calamity in front of them, what remained of their tent blazing high and bright in the midday sun. 

As she peaked, so did her magic, bursting outward in a dangerous blast of energy that lit the roof of their tent a brilliant chorus of orange and yellow. And then it was a mad scramble to grab what they could and escape. 

The laughter died down as their attention returned to where black plumes of smoke drifted high in the otherwise cloudless sky. “Well, shit,” she breathed, her eyes alight with flame and daylight. “That was …” Words accurately failed to describe the bizarre combination of bliss and chaos that unfolded.

“Riveting,” Sebastian finished the end of her sentence as they exchanged a wide-eyed glance. And then he beamed, the gentle breeze that rippled goosebumps across her bare skin also ruffling his disheveled hair, trailmarks of her hands grasping tight; the knots in her chest started to unravel.

But when her attention returned to the fire, so did the thundering in her heart. She hugged her clothes tighter, her good-humor fading away. “Fuck, I almost  _ killed  _ us.” 

As if his life meant nothing, he shrugged, the smile still stretched across his face. “There are worse ways to go.” 

They stayed in a hamlet that night, small enough to avoid a Chantry or templar presence nearby. Most of the trip for that day was spent with Kalea looking over her shoulder, wondering if the massive burst of power would attract any unwanted attention. She breathed easier tucked away inside the local inn, with a big window facing the road to spy any incoming visitors. 

Her feet ached from the long distance without proper footwear, her boots claimed with the rest of her belongings by the fire. Sebastian managed to grab everything important -- their coin, his clothes and shoes, his weapons, and also her journal -- she barely remembered clothes. Replacing their lost food and new boots left a large dent in their colfers, but he still insisted they rent the room for the night. She didn’t protest.

When Sebastian returned to the room, helping the innkeeper drag in a large tub of water, it dawned on her why exactly he made this particular splurge. “You’ll have to heat it yourselves,” the innkeeper said as the pair waddled from the door to the center of the hearth. When the tub plopped down with a mighty thunk, some of the water sloshing over the sides, the innkeeper wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “We’ll grab it in the morning after you leave.” The weary expression on her face as her eyes darted from Sebastian to Kalea spoke that there would be no offer for a second night. Kalea wondered how riled up he got about having a bath to incur such a look. 

“I think we can manage,” Sebastian said, and Kalea caught the corner of a sly smile on his lips as he faced the innkeeper. The other woman hmphed and briskly walked out, the door swinging shut behind her. 

That smile turned Kalea’s blood cold.

She pretended not to know what he assumed, jotting down the finishing details in Brother Genitivi’s journal that sat snugly across her lap. Tomorrow, she would send it back to him, and she wanted to get every last detail down, minus the more personal ones. 

“Pidge,” Sebastian sang, cutting through her concentration. His shirt hung over the arm of the chair he currently sat in as he tugged at his boots. 

“No,” she said. 

“Come warm my bath for me?” His eyelashes fluttered, his smile widening. One boot clattered on the ground, quickly followed by a sock. 

“I’m busy,” she said, her eyes falling back to where a large black dot now stained the page. Her chest felt like a cage barely able to contain her frantically beating heart. Any moment now, it would bust through and out of the window, far away from what he asked of her. 

“Aye, I can see that.” His voice drifted much closer, and when she glanced up, he was in the process of leaning toward her, an arm braced on one side of her head, palm pushing against the wall at her back. His free arm carefully dragged the book off her lap and into the empty space beside her. When he tried to unwrap her fingers from around the quill, despite her firm grip, it too ended up off to the side. 

The cold clenched around her lungs until it hurt to breathe. 

He took no notice, his lips starting at her cheek before trailing down to her neck. “We can always warm it up together.” 

“No,” she said again, weaker but still in the same monotone as before. A flush burned across her skin, fighting away the frost, especially when his mouth reached a particularly tender spot left over from that morning, his teeth nipping it hard enough to elicit a shiver of excitement up her spine. Maker, she wanted to do the whole thing over again, consequences be damned. But the image of the tent on fire crashed her back to reality, and she shoved him away, a fire lit in her cheeks. Scrambling onto her feet, she backed away from him until the backs of her legs hit the bed. 

“Warm your own damn bath,” she snapped. 

"What's your problem," he snapped back, arms crossing over his chest as he straightened. "You certainly enjoyed yourself this morning."

"Ugh!" She blew steam out through her nose, then quickly recoiled. Control, she needed to stay in control. More careful now so that an overspill didn't happen again, she said, "Go fish around downstairs if you're so hot and bothered. I'm sure any of them would be grateful to have you." 

His brow furrowed, some confusion entering into his voice as he said, "I want you." His arms unfolded as he stepped toward her, and she dipped around him and made for the window, throwing the latch and swinging it open. 

"That's not a decision either of us get to make." She eased back, her hands finding a good grip on the roof to pull herself up. From inside the room, she heard her name, followed by stomping and cursing. Then the sound of the window closing. 

The once cloudless night now swirled dark with clouds, a storm drawn to her. Lightning streaked across the sky, accompanied by a sharp clap of thunder as she settled on a relatively flat area. As tears broke free, a few drops of rain splashed against her skin, but Maker, she was so tired of holding herself back, of pretending to be stronger than she was. 

By the time Sebastian joined her, the rain slowed to a light drizzle, soft rumbling of thunder in the distance. His damp hair dripped onto the collar of his fresh shirt, the smell of his perfumey shampoos and soaps almost nauseating in their intensity. He picked a spot close by, mimicking her by drawing his knees to his chest and draping his arms over them.

"I hate cold baths," he said, running a hand through his hair. He didn't look at her, instead gazing ahead toward the road. 

"I didn't ask you to follow me," she said, her voice flat and lifeless. The rain left her goosepimpled and almost shivering, especially when a soft breeze blew through, but she gritted her teeth in determination to remain still and not show him any weakness. 

"Aye, I know,” he said, softer than before. A look passed her way, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But I missed you. It's too quiet down there without you to yell at me." A chuckle punctuated the end of his sentence. Silence replied with the shutting of the inn door, muffled conversation filling in the gaps of their own -- boots splashing in puddles, frogs crooning in the distance. 

Thunder let out another low rumble, lightning illuminating the clouds. Kalea stole a glance in his direction. His eyes shined in the temporary light, trained in her direction, lips pursed as if deep in thought. 

When she didn't offer conversation, he forged ahead. "Care to tell me what that was about?"

"No." Her chin tucked to her chest as her forehead came to rest against her knees. He wouldn’t understand; there was no use in trying to explain.

"You hurt my feelings, you know." When she lifted her head to give him a weary eye, he held her gaze with a serious expression. 

"So sorry.” Sarcasm dripped heavy from each word as she rolled her eyes. More thunder, closer than before, and she bit off the sharp edges of her annoyance to try and remain calm.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you actually are.” He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze turning back to the road.. “Did I … do you think I used you? Is that what all this is about?” 

“No.” The breeze caught a soggy strands of hair to slap at her face, and she quickly swiped them back. “It’s always been easy for you, Bash. You could have anyone you wanted and I … I don’t get that luxury, not after this morning.” Her sigh outweighed his, her shoulders sagging as she turned away. 

“Oh.” His hand reached out for her but stopped short, instead coming to rest in the gap between their bodies, his palm turned up. 

She ignored the hand, and him, pressing her cheek against her kneecap and looking out into the distance. “The first time I lost control, really lost control, I was twelve. And I burned down most of the forest around our house.” A silent tear slipped from her eye. “We didn’t move a lot until  _ I _ got my powers. Not Bethany, not my father, but  _ me.  _ And now …” Her voice cracked as more tears left hot trails down her cheeks. “You’re leaving and I can’t even be with you the way I want to.” The heels of her palms dug into her eyes as her sobbing renewed. The clouds overhead let go once more, a second shower for them both. 

“Kalea.” A gentle hand laid on her shoulder.

“What good am I? All this magic, and I still can’t do anything . I can’t stop you from leaving, or Papa from dying -- I can’t even stop myself.” A loud sob shook her entire body, and the hand at her shoulder pulled, bringing her against a cold, damp chest. 

“Please,” her voice warbled, her hands moving away from her face to wrap her arms around his neck. “Please. Don’t leave me, Bash. I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t lose you, then go home and lose Papa. Please. Please, Bash.” Her hold tightened, her face pressing against his clammy neck. “I love him.” 

His hands stroked down her back in repetitive lines. “I can’t,” he choked out. “You know that.”

“I’m not strong enough … He was supposed to get better.” Each word ripped free from her throat, raw and rasping as she sobbed against him. Her mouth tasted of salt, hot and bitter -- her hands twisted in his shirt. When she lifted her head, her overgrown bangs clumped together in her eyes, but still she managed to stare at him through the barrier. “Please. I need you. Don’t … don’t leave me.”

His face crumbled, and he let go of her with one hand to push the hair back away from her face. “Pidge … you never needed me.”

"Bash," she started, grip tightening in the fabric of his shirt, but he cut her off to continue on. 

"You got us here, not me." His hand pushed at her hair again, then slid down to cup her cheek. "You are … you are so much more than you see yourself to be." Her head tipped forward, and he shifted, leaning forward to press his lips to the center of her forehead. 

They stayed locked in place, her heavy breaths growing shallow, the rain easing back. Without moving, without looking at him, she whimpered, "I still want you to stay."

Hands let go only to drag her forward into his lap."It wouldn't be right." His voice shook, low, as he smoothed a hand down her back. 

The rain continued on, softer now, but unending. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!!


	20. To No Avail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mo ghaol: my love

Kalea watched Lothering flicker to life from her spot on the hillcrest, at the very beginning of the moorland that constituted her new home. Light stole down from the evening sky, taking residence inside windows and outside doors to welcome visitors, to welcome home family -- one burned for her. 

They could make it tonight, if she wanted. From the high vantage point, she spotted a few houses in the fields, away from any prying eyes. It wouldn’t take long to go door to door, figure out which belonged to the Hawke family -- spend the night with her siblings, curled up on the dry floor and laughing at stories. The twins would be fifteen now. 

Behind her came the sound of Sebastian struggling to ignite a fire from the few scraps of wood he found. She hadn’t used her magic in weeks, and the duty fell to him to provide for warmth their nights on the road. But everything here, air included, felt damp and soggy, reminiscent of the Storm Coast; any fire that started wouldn’t go far, even if she helped. 

Her companion was not known for his patience, and when he gave up to come and plop down beside her, her body leaned in on instinct until one arm curled around her shoulders. Lips pressed against her temple, and with it, she released a long-withheld sigh. 

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice soft and low. 

“Aren’t you?” 

Her eyes closed, blotting out Lothering, erasing everything but the sharp scent of incoming rain and him, how he folded around her, the feel of where her body ended and his began, separated only by a thin layer of clothes. Too thin, she thought as a gust of wind caused a rather large shiver to slither up her spine. He pulled her in tighter as a response, his hand brushing up and down against her arm to generate heat. 

The question didn’t need answering. 

The sky didn’t break open until the next morning, and when it did, it was only a mist. 

Neither of them slept, a wordless night of fingers tracing paths in the dark, of kisses both desperate and idle. There wasn’t anything to say, not now. 

They repacked their bags; she left most of the supplies with him. He would need them for his trip home, though his pack sagged with the weight of her absence. 

Her knees trembled as she rose onto her feet to head for Lothering. 

“Wait,” he said, and bent down to run his finger through the mud. Her nose scrunched as he neared, and she dodged his attempt to touch her. 

“Gross.” She chuckled through her confusion. “Stop that.” 

“Will you hold still?” In his next attempt, he gripped her chin with his clean hand, then swiped the mud over her nose in a streak. Lowering his voice, he added, “I heard what the Thane said to you back in the Hinterlands. You need all the protection you can get.” And then his lips brushed hers, gentle before she tugged him close and opened it to the heat between them, her heart a frantic mess inside her chest. 

When her lungs ached, she leaned back far enough to rest her forehead against his shoulder. “I don’t think it works like that,” she said, half laughing, half trying to hold back the dam of tears that threatened to spill over. Her fists made knots in the fabric of his shirt. 

The swipe melted in the mist as they started their trek down, until he stopped to wipe it away with one of his sleeves. “Well, let it be said that I tried.” 

“I appreciated the gesture.” The smile on her lips grew shy and hesitant as she gripped his hand. 

The sounds of birds chirping and wind gusting took residence between them. Scrubby bushes caught on her pants, and on more than one occasion, she stumbled over the rocky ground, held upright only by his hand and swift action. She was desperately trying not to hate this new place, but Maker grant her the patience.

The first house they approached, she spotted a young child playing in the creek in the yard. Her mother would never allow someone else’s child so close to their home, in case they stumbled upon the family secrets. 

But the second house … Kalea knew it as soon as she spotted the front door. A sharp tug jerked in her chest at the nondescript house. 

“This is it,” she whispered, her feet refusing to go no further. 

Sebastian stopped with her. 

She had spent the past few weeks pushing out thoughts of home, of Sebastian, of her father. And now here she stood, and she felt no more ready to return home than when she first set out. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her voice barely left her mouth, dry as it was, shaky breaths stuttering in her lungs. 

“You have to,” he replied, letting go of her hand to wrap his arms around her. “It’s time for you to land, Pigeon.” His lips solidified against her forehead, his hands stroking through her hair as the only movement between them. 

This was all too soon. She lifted her face to meet his, desperate for this not to end, the argument from weeks earlier dangling from her lips. She loved him, why was this not enough of a reason for him to stay? 

But he drew back as if guessing her plan. “Don’t,” he said softly. 

“Please,” she begged, her voice already ragged. 

A finger held against her lips. “No further than the doorstep.” And then they were walking again, his arm looped around her waist. He propelled her forward, guiding her up and in front of the door. 

“Please,” she said one last time. 

He kissed her again, soft and simple, before whispering in her ear, “Land softly,  _ mo ghaol _ .” And before she could stop him, he reached past her and rasped his knuckles against the door. 

She spun around to face the door at the sound of her mother’s muffled call of “Be right there!” Familiar voices drifted out, followed by the sound of a wooden chair scraping against the floor. Desperation caused her to turn, to seek solace inside Sebastian’s arms, to have him keep her steady on her feet -- he was already gone. No trace of him, even as her eyes searched the flat area, and before she could cry out, the door swung open. 

The shock on her brother’s face was almost comical, his mouth popping open in a surprised “o” as he stared. He stood taller, taller than her now but only by a few inches, his dark hair cut short. 

“You’re letting all the flies in,” their mother sniped from somewhere unseen.

Bethany cut her off with a concerned “Who’s there,” possibly taking notice of Carver’s rigidity. Her head popped up in the background, her hair braided down her back. Like her twin, her eyes widened at the sight, but a large smile bloomed in place of his slack-jawed response. 

“Kal,” Carver breathed, right as Bethany gave a jubilant shout of “Kalea!” and bounded for the door. 

Her sister threw herself at Kalea with such force that the elder Hawke nearly fell backwards, and Carver ended up pulled into the hug as the siblings crowded there on the doorstep, sobbing. 

“You’re making a spectacle,” their mother chided as she attempted to sweep the trio inside. Without letting go of each other, they stumbled through the tight doorway, allowing their mother to shut the front door. 

“Kalea, you’re home,” her mother said, forcing a sweet smile and reaching out to pat the top of Kalea’s head; she tried not to flinch as the touch connected. Maybe it was the distance, but this show of affection shone with holes, a play put on for her siblings’ benefit. She used to be able to ignore it better, to let this feigned affection fool her. “My darling girl.” 

The twins hogged her attention, pulling her to different corners of the room, showing off their new home until they ended up in their shared room. Kalea sank onto the edge of the bed she and Bethany would share and posed the question, “What happened in Highever?” 

“Highever?” Carver snorted, crossing his arms from where he towered in front of her, his muscles showing off in his cut-off tank top, despite the chilling temperatures of the season change. “We haven’t seen you in almost a year, and you want to know about Highever?” 

Bethany shot him a strained smile from her place beside Kalea before returning her attention back to her sister. “They came after Papa met you in the Fade. They must’ve sensed him -- he really exerted himself trying to find you.” 

So her fault again. Kalea swallowed the newly formed lump in her throat and squeezed her sister’s hand. Carver butted in before she could open her mouth to mutter her apologies. “Do you have it? Did you find it?”

Kalea let out a slow exhale, but the twins faces fell as if on cue. 

“I’m sure you tried your best,” Bethany said, placating her with a smile and pat of the hand. 

Carver jumped to his feet. “So that’s it? We just give up now?” Carver threw a rather sharp glare at Kalea. “You were supposed to fix this!”

“I tried,” Kalea said, the volume in his voice building along with her temper. She gave everything she could to finding the ashes, and yet something out there deemed her not worthy.  _ Malcolm Hawke’s death is the catalyst _ . Her lips pressed tight as the words from that creature echoed inside her head. “Brother --”

“I’m going out,” he growled, stomping out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him. 

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Since you left, he’s been in a fuss, picking fights and storming off like how you did before ... “ Her voice faded as her eyes read Kalea’s face, her sister’s attention still trained on the shut door. “Are you alright? You seem … I don’t know, different somehow.”

Kalea ignored the question. “He has every right to be angry with me. I made a promise that I wasn’t able to keep.” She sighed and swung her gaze back to Bethany. “Can I see him?” 

Bethany frowned but nodded. ”He might be sleeping. He does that a lot these days.” She paused, then added, “He knows you tried your best.”

“What does it say then that my best wasn’t good enough?” Kalea shrugged off her pack before rising to her feet. “Take me to him.” 

As the young women approached the door to their parents’ bedroom, their mother darted in front of it, blocking their entrance. “Absolutely not,” she sniveled, cold eyes aimed in Kalea’s direction. “He needs rest, and you’re filthy.”

“Lee,” a weak voice called from inside; Kalea’s heart tugged to hear it. “Let her in.” 

“But Malcolm --” her mother started then stopped. 

“Leandra,” her father’s voice repeated, firmer this time, and her mother made the face she did when there was no reasoning with him. With an overly loud, drawn out sigh, she opened the door to the dark room. 

“He’s fragile,” she said, still glaring at Kalea. “Don’t go trying to hug him.” 

Kalea slipped into the room by herself, and the door clicked shut behind her. Her father’s eyes reflected golden in the dim candlelight as he observed her quiet entrance. His face lacked its usual warmth, gaunt and tired, each blink a slow one. His hair hung lackluster, his beard shaved away, most likely by her mother. But he smiled and lifted a shaky hand, held out in her direction. “My shooting star, home at last.” 

The same feeling that drove her to leave, this sense of helplessness crowded her thoughts as she stared at him, half with abject horror at his condition. “I’m so sorry, Papa,” she bubbled, tears already streaking down her cheeks as she rushed over and sank by his bedside. 

“No need to be sorry, Pup,” he rasped. A cough started in his chest, and he snatched a hankerchief off the nightstand; she spotted the blood when he drew it back. 

“Papa,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. Maker, she could fit it wholly around her fingers now, the muscle stripped away by this disease that ate him. Once, his biceps bulked under the physical labor of his jobs, and she would swing from them, giggling. And now, if she wasn’t careful, a single touch would snap those same arms in two. 

“Just you?” His eyes glinted in the light, every bit as mischievous as in the Fade dream. “I thought we might prepare for company.” 

“Papa, I don’t …” A shaky breath leached out her chest at the thought of Sebastian, even here in front of her dying father. 

His hand covered hers. “I wish, for your sake, that he stayed. But, then again,” His eyes cast to the door behind her, “sometimes, it’s better that they don’t.” 

She mulled over his words in bed that night as she took out the dagger Sebastian gave her from inside her pack and twirled it around her fingers while Bethany slept soundly, tucked against her backside. The V pressed against her thumb as she rubbed it against the pommel.  _ Sometimes, it’s better that they don’t.  _

At the very bottom of the pack laid the ripped out journal page with the prophecy from the augur written across it. It hurt to deface the journal like that, but those words were meant for her alone -- not even Sebastian knew. The paper replaced the dagger and as she held it in the dark, the words jumped out as if in broad daylight, recited through memory. 

_ Darkness descends upon those who close their eyes. The tumultuous winds of fate seek you. From the dirt of graves, destiny shall build your throne of greatness.  _

_ Malcolm Hawke’s death is the catalyst.  _

As the fire took life across the folded piece of paper, Kalea Hawke saw the red glare of the templar woman’s eyes piercing through the flame. 

_ Fuck you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot to say here. 
> 
> Special thank you to Kynlei, Erin, Tara, and even Sara. To everyone who commented and will comment. Thank you for helping me feel like I wasn't just talking to the void. 
> 
> When I started the original Ashes to Ashes, it was a gift and I had no canon Hawke and no real interest in Sebastian Vael or DA2. And now, three years later, I've had to do a rewrite because of my love for these characters and the game. These are my children. I don't know the last time I went a day without thinking specifically about these two. They've come so far as people, as characters, and I cried writing this chapter because it feels like goodbye. In a way, it is. 
> 
> I've decided to not go any further, at least in public, with their story -- not to seek it out or force myself to expand. Whether or not they listen is another matter entirely, but I'm stopping my work on all of my Dragon Age fics. I could stay here forever with the OCs I've built and all their extensive universes, but I see an out and I'm going to take it. Privately, I'm going to work on an AU for Hawke's canon timeline that I don't plan to post, and then after that, move on. There's a whole world of fandom out there, and part of me feels like Dragon Age has held me back from pursuing such interests. 
> 
> This isn't the ending I wanted for them. I wanted him to stay, for her to find a way to heal her father. But that's not this story. The original design, though I've changed much I couldn't change this, was for this to explain the familiarity Hawke uses in addressing Sebastian canonically throughout the game, the aggressiveness in which she pursues him. This story was always intended to end canon-compliant, with Sebastian in Kirkwall and Malcolm dead. Sometimes canon is dumb. I wish I could've broke them from their fates. They deserve happiness. And they get it down the line, but what's posted is what will stay, scraps of a future they fight for together. 
> 
> I wish I could've done more.


End file.
